


What Defines Us

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam is a dick, Adult Content, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anna Feels, Bad Boy Castiel, Cas is secretly a giant softy, Dean and Cas are such saps, Dean is a giant nerd, F/F, F/M, Feels, Foul Language, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, John sucks, M/M, Mary Feels, Michael is too, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, and fluff, and other kinks, ask a parent's permission before reading, awkward but sexy teenage touching, lots of sexual activity, once you get past all the bullshit, seriously, there's also a panty kink, this story is so fucking long, tons of fucking fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 109,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is failing his classes.  Which is bad.  So, when the school counselor tells him he can't play sports until he gets his grades up,  he's forced to work with local rebel and all around Senior bad boy Castiel Novak in order to raise his grade point average.  What starts as antagonistic and barely polite (with an annoying amount of underlying sexual tension) soon turns into a reluctant friendship-- and then, maybe more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I Need Help (Can’t Call For Help)

**Author's Note:**

> Co-Written with my Aussie (http://insanity-is-life.tumblr.com) and Beta-ed by the wonderful http://prof-lupin.tumblr.com/. This story wouldn't exist if it wasn't for them. 
> 
> WARNING: A bit of undersage-ish sexytimes. Plus depictions of child abuse and mentions of suicide. I'll give a warning above each chapter for any possible triggers, just in case. 
> 
> I certainly hope you all enjoy this. I know I've had a blast writing it.

“Mr. Winchester?” 

What was he going to tell John?  What was he going to tell _Sammy_?  He could already see the disappointment on his face, could already picture the sad droop of his shoulders when he found out.  It would crush him, knowing that he wouldn’t be going to any of Dean’s games, wouldn’t be seeing him play on the varsity team.  The season had just started, but it was already ending for him.  Already over before he could even start in his first match.  It made something in him twist.

“Mr. Winchester, are you listening to me?” 

Dean stared down at the palms of his hands, a small frown on his lips, marring his features.  “Yeah, I’m listening, Mr. Henriksen.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”  He asked, dipping his head, trying to catch the young man’s gaze.

“Yes.”  Dean grit out, glancing up, eyes hard and resolved.  “Yes, I _understand_.  Impossible as it is to believe, I’m actually _not_ stupid.  I _can_ , in fact, understand the spoken English language.”

He felt resentment flare up in him.  Burning and angry, and he knew that it was mostly directed at himself and not at his guidance counselor.  It just so happened that Henriksen was a lot easier to be pissed at than himself. 

“I wasn’t trying to imply that you were--”

“--so, I mean, what the fuck can I do?”  Cutting him off with a snap, Dean shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in the way his skin seemed to crawl with irritation, the way knots of anxiety weighed heavy in his gut.  “What the fuck can I do to--?”

“Mr. Winchester, I’d appreciate it if you _watched your language_.”  Henriksen glowered, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on the top of his desk.  “If you’d settle down for a second, I could tell you just what you can do.”

Dean bit back the response he was going to make; scathing and sarcastic, ready to tell him exactly where he could stick his advice.  A dark brow ticked up over Henriksen’s eyes, and his fingers drummed against the wood of the desktop as he waited.  Heaving out a deep sigh, Dean shifted again, leaning back heavily in his chair as all his limbs sagged like he was a marionette with its strings cut.

“I can still practice, can’t I?” 

Henriksen pursed his lips, shaking his head.  “No, Mr. Winchester.  You can’t.  Your grade point average is too low to participate in any school organized sports.  You can’t play, you can’t practice.  Not until it’s at least a two-point-five.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Afraid not,” he replied with a grim look.  “You _have_ to get your grades up, Mr. Winchester.  You have to graduate.  Don’t you want to be successful?”

Oh, he wanted to.  He wanted to so badly.  Wanted to get out of the suburban Hell he was trapped in.  Wanted to get away from this town, the people in it, his father.  From everything.  Wanted to take Sammy with him, pile into the Impala with everything they owned, and just drive until he couldn’t see straight.  He wanted to go to college, to get a degree, to make enough money to send Sam away to University when that rolled around too. 

But wanting and deserving are two completely different things.

Henriksen sighed, running a hand over the smooth skin of his scalp as he stretched back into his chair.  “Listen, Mr. Winchester--”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“My name is Dean.  Stop calling me Mr. Winchester.  That’s my dad.”

“Dean,” Henriksen sighed again, and he had a keen feeling that he was going to end up doing that a great deal when it came to this particular student.  “You’ve _got_ to get yourself on track.  You’re a junior; you’ve still got time to get your grades up, to get into a good college.  But this year is crucial, Dean.  If you don’t start trying now?  Well, I honestly don’t think you’ll be able to.”

Glancing back down, he stared at his hands again.  Traced the lines of his palms with his eyes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.  His shoulders rolled forward, slumping slightly in his seat, and he huffed out a resigned sound.  “What do I need to do?”

Henriksen grinned, relief evident in his expression.  “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

 

Skepticism was a nice way to put it.

 _Really_?  Castiel fucking Novak?  A tutor?  _His_ tutor?

He stared down at the slip of paper, walking out the double doors that lead to the fields almost on autopilot.  It was fourth period.  Which everyone knew meant their resident bad boy would be skipping class and hiding out in the bleachers; he’d been caught there on more than one occasion in years previous, not to mention the half a dozen or so times he’d gotten a detention slip-- and subsequently skipped said detention-- already that semester, and that was the problem with small schools like theirs.  Everyone knew everyone else’s business.

By the time he’d made his way to the stands, he’d shaken off most of the shock, and had to slow his pace when he noted the fact that there was no one there.  Had he _actually_ gone to class this time?  Hesitating for a moment, he stepped up onto them, metal creaking under foot.  Scanning over them once more as he climbed up, pausing about three-quarters of the way to the top in order to look around.  He could only imagine how much of a lost puppy he must appear to be. 

“Great,” he huffed, feeling irritation well up within him.  He would really rather not spend the rest of his day trying to track this guy down.  “Fucking great.”

He slumped down, hard, onto the bench seat.  Winced as it jarred his body, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  He stared hard at the slip of paper with Castiel’s name scrawled across it, and felt that sharp edge of anger twist in him. 

“Well,” he muttered to himself, crumpling the paper up and then chucking it as hard as he could across from him.  “This is fan-fucking-tastic.” 


	2. Squeeze My Lemons

Reputation was a powerful thing.  It dictated one’s life; your dress, your speech, your general appearance. It was the mask you applied every day in order to face people.  The same applied for Castiel Novak, leather clad with an attitude three miles wide.  Most days, his reputation was what kept him going, somewhat prideful of the way juniors parted way for him, leveling with the same trademark half grin that had the majority of the cheer squad --and a surprising portion of the male populous-- turning to putty in his hands.

Blowing out a long sigh, he rolled his shoulders, still a little sore from a total of eleven hours in a tattoo artist’s chair, soft navy cotton brushing against raw skin as his jacket shifted across his back, weighing down what was otherwise a light shirt.  Taking off his bag, Castiel thought about leaning against the cool metal of row upon row of ugly green lockers but thought better of it when he recalled the fresh black ink sitting under the skin of his upper arms.  Riffling through his timetable, he groaned softly.  Whilst English was his favorite subject, he couldn’t stand his teacher, Mr. Shurley, though Cas had a habit of calling him Chuck. It was times like this he hated his reputation, baring his desire to correct his teacher --it was _wherefore_ art thou, not where art thou! Juliet knew _where_ her Romeo was, she wanted to know _why_ he was a fucking Montague.

Flicking his gaze up to trail over a skinny looking girl awkwardly trying not to make her stare obvious, he raised a singular eyebrow, a flash of embedded metal glinting duly.  Tilting his head, Castiel regarded her with an oddly intense stare, like one would an offering.  He was in no mood to flirt, but she, like many of the people who watched him, was vaguely interesting.  He had always been fond of watching people; their mannerisms, attitudes and reactions all filed away for future reference.

Looking away from her with a soft smirk, he carefully shouldered his bag again and headed in the exact opposite direction of his English class.  He already knew _Romeo and Juliet_ backwards and forwards anyway.  Walking out of the school halls with his usual confidence, Castiel took to climbing up the back of the bleachers, both ignoring and being ignored by the PE teacher inflicting God-knows-what on poor, unsuspecting juniors as he slipped down beneath the bleacher scaffolding, perching on a high rung, balancing on booted feet as he hung his bag on a protruding screw.

With a quick glance around, Castiel assured himself he was not being observed as he pulled out a battered copy of _An Actor Prepares_ , dog-eared and pencil marked from his insistent and ever changing note-taking.  Opening to his bookmarked page, Castiel read familiar paragraphs-- ones that he had practically committed to memory.  _The Magic If._ _What would I do if in Hamlet’s position? How do I bring this man to life?_

He lost track of time, not sure exactly how long he’d been reading, often pausing to contemplate what he was reading, applying it to roles past and previous, pulling out the stub of a well used pencil from behind his ear, careful not to catch the metal bar that formed his scaffold piercing, to scratch notes in the ever shrinking margins.

Castiel was startled out of his focus when he heard scuffled footsteps coming up the bleachers. _Oh, great. Company_.  Quickly, he shoved his book back into his bag, hoping nobody saw it.  It wouldn’t do for the resident ‘bad boy’ to be seen reading an acting manual.

Raising his head, he peered out from between the bleacher seats, glaring at the well proportioned figure of one Dean Winchester; jock, popular, and all around asshat.  Hissing in annoyance, he crouched under the bleachers, looking out at him in hopes they wouldn’t have to talk.  Castiel was a few things, but judgemental wasn’t one of them.  Unless the subject of judgment was Dean-- because that guy irked him to no end.  All-winning smile, taken a few too many hits around the head, knocked the few brains cells left around. 

It wasn’t as though they’d spoken a great deal.  In fact, the one time Castiel had spoken to him was only passingly in the hall, jibed at by the gaggle of swimmers with him, apparently leather pants equated with homosexuality.  He only wore his favorite leathers on special occasions now.

The closer Dean got to his perch, the more disgruntled he became, to the point that he was flat out glowering at him.  It wasn’t until Dean had taken a seat right next to where he was hiding that he spoke, a voice that didn't quite match his age -- _thanks a bunch, puberty-_ \- far too deep and gravelly.

“What do you want?” He asked, blunt as ever, shouldering his bag.

Dean startled, practically jumping out of his skin, and whipping around in his seat so fast that he ended up falling between the bench seats with a harsh sound.  “Shitfucking _damnit_ \-- Would you fucking warn a guy?”

He would like to say that he was surprised, making out Castiel’s unamused face between the slats of metal that made up the stands, but he definitely wasn’t.  Couldn’t be.  Couldn’t bring himself to be.  Not past the frustration still bubbling under his skin.

“What the hell are you doing under there?”

With surprisingly agile movements, Castiel climbed over the bleacher rail, jumping down to stand a few steps above him, landing with a muffled thump.  “I don’t think that’s any of your business. I asked you a question. What do you want?”  He asked flatly, skillfully hiding his amusement at the way Dean had sprung off of his seat.  Like a frightened cat.

“Uh...” he swallowed, appearing vaguely bashful as he scrambled onto his feet, dusting his jeans off with sharp, jerking movements.  “Henriksen.  Mr. Henriksen told me to find you.”

Raising a studded eyebrow, Castiel took a moment to recall the name.  Henriksen.  Yes, the one they’d sent him to when he was a junior.  Apparently moving out of home warranted some kind of counseling, though he thought otherwise: if anything he was better off away from the majority of his family.

“Let me rephrase then.  What does _he_ want?”  Castiel asked, leaning lazily up against the rail, a slip of tan skin peeking out from under his shirt.

Dean hesitated, tongue darting out over his lips as he braced himself for the next words that were going to spill out.  There was a large part of him telling him to forget it.  To just leave.  He already had a part time job at Bobby’s and another at Ellen's; he could drop out and hit one full time.  It wouldn’t be a big deal, everyone expected it out of him anyways-- yeah, he was pretty, could kick a ball around and swim a mean hundred butterfly, but he was never going to amount to much.

But he thought of the look on Sam’s face.  The look he would give him if he dropped out, if he gave up like that.  It would be the same look he gave to John everyday-- rather, on the days that he was _actually_ in the house and not drowning in the bottom of a bottle at some bar.

Jaw flexing, he huffed out a sharp breath and gave him a dry look.  “I need a tutor.  He said you were the guy to talk to.”

With a soft snort, Castiel regarded him for a long moment, unsure if this was a joke, or if Dean honestly needed his help.  Castiel had always been smart-- sometimes that was the only thing keeping him in school, because if he didn’t both achieve and tutor the odd person, they’d have him expelled so fast his head would spin.  An innate ability to do well in tests without much effort was his savior; his brother, Gabriel, called it his ‘naturally bullshit laden personality.'  Cas prefered to call it intelligence.

“So you want _me_ to give up my precious time for your dumb ass.”  He stated, pausing for a moment as he grumbled to himself, knowing he had little choice but tutor him.  “I don’t do math, and I don’t do easy rides.  You want to do well, you will work your pretty ass off for it.  Understand?”

Dean was getting sick and fucking tired of people asking him if he understood.  “Yeah, I get it.” 

Dean's hands flexed at his sides, and he resisted the urge to shift under his gaze.  He didn’t like this anymore than Castiel seemed to, and in all honesty wished he didn’t have to do it at all.  The fact that it was with Castiel of all people only made it worse.  It wasn’t as though they fought, as though they were enemies of some kind.  They just didn’t exactly talk; the few interactions they had had were never exceptionally friendly.  But they weren’t volatile either.

“So how do we do this?”

Cas didn’t so much as blink, staring over at him as though weighing up his value.  He could see the frustration, though its cause remained hidden.  “I teach.  And you learn.  It’s not hard.”  He deadpanned, shuffling his bag on his back as it pressed a little too hard on his still healing skin.  “What subjects do you need help in?”

 _All of them_ , Dean thought begrudgingly even though it wasn’t exactly true.  He was aceing gym, at least.  Two C’s-- one in English and the other his pre-calc class.  There was a D in art, and the rest were all F’s. 

“You know, world history.  Bio.”  He shrugged, doing his best to suppress the embarrassed flush that wanted to overtake his face, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants.  Dean wasn’t used to asking for help.  He was used to failing, but he wasn’t used to being forced to ask for help, to focus so much light on his ineptitudes.  “The usual bullshit.  I don’t need much help.  Just enough to get me to a C average, enough to get me back in sports.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, pinning him with an unamused look as he moved to stand next to him.  “I’ll ask again: what subjects do you need help in?”  He said, stance all confidence as he stared over at him.  He wasn’t used to being snarked at, generally, he demanded enough respect entirely based on his reputation to command some attention.

“I need syllabus’, class content, and names of your teachers.”

Dean blinked, feeling suddenly quite weary about this entire thing-- irritation placed on the backburner as he regarded him, taking a slow step back to put more space between them.  “Why the hell do you need all of that?”

“Did you think I can just pull a full study plan entirely for your subjects and texts out of my ass.”  Castiel challenged, annoyance growing by the second, lord give him preservation.  “I’ll need to talk with some of your teachers to see what’s difficult, I need your class work to see what the hell it is I’m supposed to tutor you on.  Rather self explanatory.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Dean gave a breathy, agitated slip of a laugh, eyes going skyward for a moment as if asking for some kind of guidance.  His gut clenched and rolled, burning and boiling as he flicked at his nose and moved to walk away.  “I’ll just round all of that up.  With any luck, maybe a bit of witchcraft, I should probably have it to you by tomorrow.  What day is best for you to start working, princess?”

Dean asked day.  Because, really, who the fuck would want to spend more than a couple of hours _tops_ one day of the week with this condescending prick?

“That’s Prince Charming to you, asshole,” he drawled out, “I shouldn’t be too hard to find.  I want it before the week's end, I’m free every afternoon except weekends and Fridays.  I’ll see you round.”  He added, walking away without so much as a smile in his direction.

Dean watched him go.  He wanted to punch him.  Wanted punch _someone_.  Some _thing_.  He couldn’t believe that this was happening.  Biting back a sound of frustration, he made his way down the bleachers, headed back for the school building. 

Fourth period.  He could really use some mind-numbing art-talk right now.

* * *

 

Dean was nervous about going home.  Sweaty palms, churning stomach, that kind of thing.  His car idled as he sat in his driveway, engine purring and giving him away.  He could only sit outside for so much longer before Sam came out to investigate why he was taking his sweet time coming inside to cook him dinner.  Growing boys and all that.

Staring at his steering wheel, he grimaced.  He didn’t want to go inside.  Didn’t want to deal with questions about how his day went.

Jaw flexing, he braced himself, killing the engine and jerking his car door open when he spotted his nosy little brother peaking at him through the livingroom window.  Climbing out, he slung his bag over his shoulder and shut the door with reluctance, wanting nothing more than to get back in and drive off.  He moved away from the car, jogging up the short flight of stairs to their home. 

It was in surprisingly good shape considering John didn’t take care of it-- the lawn wasn’t the greenest and the house could use a new coat of paint, but it was passable.  Dean tried to make sure a mow the yard every other weekend to keep it under control, and he had Sam put out the sprinkler when he came home from school every once in awhile to keep it from yellowing.  The backyard was a little worse for wear; it didn’t matter as much, no one could see it but them, so they didn’t have to pretend back there.  There was a ratty old trampoline Dean had spent nights on, just staring up at the stars, spent afternoons teaching Sam how to do flips and backflips on.  There were still patches of dead grass from when Sam had brought home a stray golden retriever and kept him for two weeks before John had come crawling back from two towns and three bars over and thrown a fit. 

The only thing Dean made sure to keep up back there was the single apple orchard by their back fence.  He trimmed it when it needed trimming; when the season came around, he picked the shiniest apples and washed them and put them in a pie or two.  It was a bittersweet act, baking apple pie, like his mother had when they were young.  Leaving just the right amount of peel on them, leaving them to soak in butter, sugar, and cinnamon before baking it in the crust.  It always reminded him of coming home from school when he was eight to find her sprawled out on the kitchen floor, eyes open wide, skin pale and pie burning in the oven.

It had been a cerebral aneurysm.  There had been no way to see it coming.  No way to catch it, or fix it, though she’d been complaining of headaches for days.  John had blamed himself for not taking her to the doctor’s, for not insisting, and had since been losing himself in bottles of Jack and self-pity.  All the while, his children were struggling to stay afloat-- Dean trying to keep food on the table, trying to keep his dad proud with sports, and letting his grades go by the wayside.  Thank god the mortgage had been paid off years previous. And thankfully, they weren’t completely alone in the mess; Dean often got help from Bobby-- extensions on paychecks-- and handouts from Ellen-- who often sent meals from the restaurant over for the both of them-- even though Dean insisted he could take care of Sam and himself.  They had both been close friends with John and Mary, and they’d both made sure to keep an eye out on his boys even if John wouldn’t.

The door opened with a creak, and reminded himself for the millionth or so time that he should get some oil for the hinges when he got the chance.  “Hey, Sammy, I’m home!”

“You’re early!” He called back from the living room, rushing to make himself look casual as he slumped over-dramatically on the couch and turned the TV on to an infomercial.  “No practice today?”

“Something like that,” he muttered, not bothering to hide the affectionate smile that curled on his lips as he leaned against the jam that lead from the foyer to the family room as he stared at his brother.  “How was school?”

Sam glanced over at him, brow furrowing.  “What do you mean ‘something like that’?  Are you skipping it?”

“Not exactly.”

“ _Dean_.”

“What?”  He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting.  Hiding things from his brother was hard; lying to him was harder.  Especially considering the fact that the intuitive little bastard seemed to see right through him more often than not. 

“Why aren’t you at soccer practice?”

“Why are you watching a program about how to get the perfect abs?”  Dean deflected, shoving off the jam to walk over, plopping unceremoniously down next to him on the couch.  “Trying to impress somebody?”

“What are you--?  Oh,” Sam sighed, blushing faintly before he turned the TV off, and gave Dean a bashful look as he pushed against his side.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine,” he retorted, poking him just under his ribs, right where he knew he was ticklish.  Laughing as he squirmed away, he followed after his movements, poking him again before Sam slapped his hands away with an aggravated snap of his name. 

“I asked _first--_ would you cut that out?”  Sam huffed, pushing at him as he tried to tickle him again, letting out a sigh of relief as his brother finally ceased and retreated to his side of the couch.  “Why aren’t you at practice, Dean?”

He hesitated.  Honestly, he really didn’t want to tell him why he wasn’t there.  But he knew better than to lie to him,  knew not to do something that John did all the time.  Because Dean refused to be anything like their father.  Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees, giving him a serious and earnest look.

“Do you promise not to be mad?”

Sam’s expression fell.  “Dean, what did you do?”

“Hey, breathe, okay?  It’s nothing... too terrible.  Little embarrassing, honestly.”  He admitted, glancing down, preparing himself for the disappointment.  “I’m not doing so well in some of my classes.  Can’t play until they’re all good again.”

Sam frowned, brow furrowing, and he inched a bit closer, as if sensing his brother’s distress.  “Well, do you need any help?  Do you need _my_ help?  I can help.”

“No.  No, Sam, it’s--” Dean cut himself off, glancing up to see the hopeful look there, and he laughed faintly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I’d really like your help.  Between you and my new tutor I’ll be rolling in the good grades in no time.”

“New tutor?”

Dean sighed just at the mention of it-- of _him_.  Castiel Novak.  He couldn’t imagine how the hell _he_ , of all people, was supposed to be his tutor.  From what he understood, he was worse than Dean.  Almost never showed up to class.  How was he supposed to help him get his grades up if he barely went to class in the first place?  Dean figured that he was probably only still in school because his parents donated quite a bit to the district, and his siblings had provided a great deal for the school’s reputation.  Castiel had great grades, kept the school’s records up-- or helped anyways-- which meant they kept him around despite all of the classes he missed.  At least he was still on campus when he ditched.

“Yep.  Got myself a tutor.”  He assured Sam, grinning.  “So, really, there’s nothing for you to worry about.  Like I said, I’ll be back in the game in no time.”

Sam practically beamed at him.  “That’s great!  I’m so proud of you, Dean.  I know you’ve got some bad grades, but at least you’re fixing them, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, smiling softly, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest at his little brother’s words.  “Well... now that we’re done with that.  What are you making for dinner tonight?”

“What?  Dean, I don’t make dinner.  _You_ do.”

Letting out a fake yawn, he stretched his arms above his head, toppling over to sprawl over the top of his younger brother, squishing him beneath the weight of his body.  “I dunno, Sammy.  I’m kinda tired.  Think you should make dinner tonight.  I’m a hard workin’ guy, Sam.”

“Dean!”

Wrapping his arms around his squirming form, he snuggled against him, face rubbing against his chest as he gave another large yawn.  “Yep.  So tired, Sam.  Think I’m just gonna curl up with this fancy new pillow and catch a few.  You can make that thawed chicken on the counter, can’t you?”

“ _Dean_ , c’mon!  Would you stop?  I’m not a pillow, and I can’t make dinner!”

“Weird, this pillow sounds just like you.”

“ _Dean!_ ”

 


	3. Every Now and Then I Kick the Living Shit Outta Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief mentions of child abuse,

It had taken Dean all week to gather what he needed from his classes.  Naturally, he hadn’t kept the syllabus’ from his classes, and had to request new ones from each of his teachers.  They’d all given him these ridiculously knowing looks that made him feel vaguely ill.  The class work-- what little of it he’d done-- had been easy to find; he liked to keep his room neat and clean in contrast to his father’s general mess.  

Sam had helped him organize it all into a binder, the dork, but Dean hadn’t really minded seeing his little brother make such a fuss over him.  He’d go so far as to call it cute.  He _had_ gone so far, in fact, and it had resulted in a tussle that left Dean with a bruised shin and Sam with a nasty knot on his head.  All in all, it had been a pretty successful week at home.

School, however, was a completely different story.

It was Friday, and sixth period was just getting out.  He knew where Castiel’s locker was-- everyone did, just like everyone knew where Dean’s was, the consequences of a small school-- and made his way there through the throngs of people in the halls.  Sidling up to him, taking in the casual way Castiel was shuffling through his things, appearing disinterested but simultaneously in a rush to get off campus, he held out the binder with a touch of reluctance.

“Here,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of the crowd.  “Everything you asked for.”

Why was this taking Dean so long?  It was a simple request for a folder of work he should have laying around at home.  With a frustrated huff, Castiel leant against his locker, tattoo no longer protesting as much, healing faster than he’d expected.  This week had been it’s usual blend of ditching class because, honestly, he had better ways to spend his time, and occasionally sitting in because he’d gotten yet another threat from the headmaster Crowley about his terrible attendance.  The office once called his elder brother several years ago --who had since taken guardianship-- about his attendance and general attitude. Needless to say, they never called Gabriel again; it was a very interesting evening.

He was itching to get out of there; he had a ‘job’ to work, and Friday’s crowd started early and went late.  When Dean finally pushed through the crowd, he pushed off the locker and took the offered binder with a certain smoothness of movement that spoke of grace.

“Finally,” he mumbled, opening the binder to look over the assembled work with an air of false disinterest.  It all seemed in order as he flipped through page after page of subjects, most of which he’d either taken or had looked into for previous tutorings.  Nodding his satisfaction, Castiel closed the binder and knelt to cram it into his bag. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

 _Wait a second.  That was it?  ‘See you on Monday?'_ Dean had to bite back a wince as Castiel mishandled the binder he and Sam had taken such time to put together.  Brow furrowing, he watched as he stood, bag slung over his shoulder; he moved to his right as Castiel tried to skirt around him and make his exit, blocking his way.

“ _Where_ and _when_ on Monday?”  He asked, tone sharp as he cut him off.  “Oh, yeah, and you’re welcome.”

Trying to make a quick exit seemed off the agenda.  Huffing in irritation, he glared at him, attempting to move again only to find his path blocked.

"I didn't thank you, dumbass."  He snapped, giving up on moving forward with an angry grunt.  "I have a few hours to kill Monday afternoon.  I suppose we'll meet then.  Public library will be sufficient for a meeting place."  Cas told him, patience vanishing as his path was blocked yet again.  "Now get the fuck out of my way before I decide to break your nose."

A chill ran down his spine at the threat, and he stood a bit straighter.  They were the same height, and it left their gazes meeting perfectly.  Glaring into intimidatingly blue eyes-- the ones that made girls chatter and swoon over him, the ones that made Dean feel like he was being stripped down and taken apart bit by bit-- he offered up a none-too-nice grin, all teeth and almost animal.  

“All you need to do is ask, Prince Charming.”  He replied, unmoved by his words; he’d gotten worse after last year’s soccer championship against the Huskies from some school in West Virginia; he’d gotten worse from his dad from time to time.  “And a ‘please’ would probably go a _long_ way.”

Castiel made no move to back down, staring at him with an unwavering gaze.  Proximity did nothing to disturb him, comfortable with the lack of personal space despite their obvious dislike of each other.  He lingered for a moment, flicking his gaze over the length of his body, an odd smirk curling his lips.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”  He leered, abruptly turning around to slink away, no longer interested in his little games.

Dean tensed, watching as he walked away with a look of dawning horror spreading over his face.  He followed the mop of black hair through the crowd with his gaze for as long as he could, but as he disappeared, Dean finally took a stuttering breath-- not realizing he hadn’t been breathing in the first place until Castiel had moved away.  Exhaling deeply, he leaned back against the lockers heavily, the cool metal soothing even through the cotton of his shirt.  The way his gaze had raked over him made him feel itchy, sort of made him burn, made him tingle.  

“Yo, Winchester!”  Dean blinked, blinked again, and looked up to see one of his teammates walking up to him.  Adam Milligan, a boy in his grade, came sidling up to him and clapped him on the shoulder companionably.  They were forwards together, though Dean sometimes played defense as well, but they had a bit of a problem getting along most of the time.  Always competing for shots.  “What’s up, man?  You haven’t been at practice-- you coming to today’s scrimmage?”

“Adam, hey.”  He shoved off of the line of lockers.  He didn’t want to have this conversation.  Not with Adam.  Not with anyone.  “How’ve you been?”

“Good.  I’ve been good.” Adam tilted his head, bemused as he stared at him; Dean brushed by, clutching to the strap of his backpack that was slung over his shoulder.  “You know, that really wasn’t an answer, Dean.”

“Yeah, I-- I’ve just been really busy.  Got a test to study for.  I’ll be back on the field before you know it.”  He replied, turning to walk backwards so that he could speak more clearly at him.  “Tell the guys not to worry.”

Adam’s eyebrows darted up, and he let out a soft laugh.  “Yeah, sure.  Don’t rush or anything.  I’m enjoying having all the passes to myself.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Dean felt something bitter well up in him, and he could taste it at the back of his throat and on his tongue.  Rounding a corner blindly, he went veering into a smaller body, and they both came to a stumbling halt as books went spilling across the floor.  Letting out a soft curse, he instantly crouched to the floor, uttering apologies as he gathered up the discarded things.

“Real smooth, pretty boy.  You use those moves on all the ladies?”  Freezing, he glanced up with a dry expression on his face, head canting to the side in blatant annoyance.  Meg smirked down at him, hand on her hip, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.  “Because I’ve gotta say, they need some serious work.”

“Really?  I think I’m charming.”  Standing up in one easy movement, he handed her the things she’d dropped, and she rolled her eyes at him.  

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t give me that look,” he grinned, cheeky and playful.  “If I’m not mistaken, it was _you_ who fell for my charms in the first place.”

“That was the _seventh grade_.  And we were playing truth or dare.”

“You still kissed me.”

“And _you_ kissed back.”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, “you tasted like peanut butter, what did you expect me to do?”

“Shut _up_.  God, you’re so fucking _stupid_.”  Meg shoved at his arm, and he placed a hand over it, expression wounded-- though it was ruined by the smile on his lips.  “C’mon, dumbass.  We have to meet up with Charlie-- pizza night, right?”

She moved past him, and Dean was compelled to follow at the simple mention of food.  Pizza night was always something to look forward to.  It had been a tradition since the eighth grade, meeting up at one of their houses to either movie marathon or play DnD while chowing down on junk food and soda all night every other Friday.  Trailing along beside her, he nudged into her side, laughing when she puffed out an annoyed sound and pushed back.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”  

“I think it’s been said once or twice.”  Dean nodded, looking vaguely contemplative for a moment.  

As they walked back down the hall, he was forced to duck his head as he passed a few teammates, not wanting them to see him.  Not after missing practice all week.  Not considering the fact that he couldn’t play, not yet, not until his grades were back up.  He didn’t want to face that yet.

Meg gave him a curious look as they exited the building, kicking at his ratty, worn sneakers with a booted foot in question when he finally glanced back at her.  “And what was that all about?  You skipping practice for us, pretty boy?”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  He laughed, looping an arm around her shoulders even as she gave a dramatic shudder at the touch of affection.  “Nope.  Not skipping anything.  There’s a scrimmage today, but nothing mandatory.  Sammy’s staying over at his friend Andy’s.  I’m all free for the night.”

“Good.”  Meg shrugged out from under his arm, giving him a briefly threatening look as they headed towards the parking lot where Dean had parked his Impala.  “Because I’m pretty sure Garth got the-- and I’m quoting here, so please note the derision-- mega super _awesome_ extended edition of _The Hobbit_ today.  Which means--”

“ _Lord of the Rings_ marathon.”  Dean let out a long suffering sigh.  It was their third one that year.  He loved it, honest, but sometimes too much was too much.  “Think I have time to fake an illness?”

“Charlie would have your balls.”

“Charlie isn’t going anywhere _near_ my balls.”  He scoffed, pausing as they came up to his car, and he opened up the passenger side door for Meg to climb in.  “Her hands aren’t going _anywhere_ below the belt-- not since that last time--”

“In Pasadena?  The LARPing convention?”  Meg snorted, leaning against the the top of the car, watching as Dean rounded the front to make his way to the driver’s side.  “Don’t be such a fucking princess, Dean-o.  You’ve still got everything in one piece, don’t you?”

Dean came to a halt, hand hovering at the handle of his door as Meg slipped in and slammed hers shut.  His thoughts strayed to Castiel, the way he’d looked at him, the way he’d called him Princess in that goddamn _voice_ \--

Shaking it off, he sighed, opening his the car door with a jerk.   _Great_ , that douchebag was already fucking with his life and he’d barely had any interactions with the man.  Fucking great.  It was going to be a _long_ semester.

* * *

 

The problem with Castiel Novak was rather simple; he had no friends.  The entirety of his schooling life hinged on occasional conversations from his elder siblings, most of whom had now moved out of this shit hole of a town.  The closest thing he had to a friend was Gabriel, and brothers didn't really count.  Standing stock still outside the school gates, he waited with little patience for his brother to turn up, watching the as the crowd thinned out to little more than late stragglers and over achieving nerds that stayed back to natter in their teachers ears.

It was what felt like an age until he saw Gabriel pull up, familiar grin in place as he parked a purposeful distance from the gate, earning a rude gesture from Cas.  Grunting softly, he glared at his brother from outside the car and threw his bag in through the open window of the car, slamming the door after himself when he climbed in.

"Heya, Cassie."  His brother greeted, knowing enough about Cas to see when he was in a mood.

"Home.  Now."  Cas grunted, folding his arms almost petulantly as he negated to respond to his brothers greeting.

It was a quiet drive home, parking next to the beaten up four-wheel drive of their kooky neighbour, Rufus.  Their apartment was more than satisfactory for two people, purchased in a last fit of good will from their eldest brother, at least having the decency to set them up with a living space.

It wasn't until they were inside that Castiel was pinned with a familiar and slightly demanding gaze, his brother watching his every move as he emerged from his room, socked feet padding against dark carpet, accumulated dust and candy wrapper littering the floor.

"Alright, out with it.  What's got your wings in a knot?"  Gabriel asked, leaning against their-- mostly unused-- kitchen door frame.  The glare Cas was sporting softened to a childish huff as he went into their bathroom, peeling his shirt back to inspect the ink resting under still healing skin.  Thankfully not as red now, just dry, and a little flaky.

"I've got another dumbass to tutor,"  he grumbled, fishing through the drawer to find the pot of cocoa butter they kept, taking a swipe at it and rubbing down the healing skin of his upper back and shoulders.  Surprisingly intricate wings stretched from the middle of his back to his upper arm, individual feathers inked into his skin.  Rolling his shoulders, Castiel rubbed the makeshift lubricant into his back, trying to keep skin from scabbing over.

Gabriel gave a snort,  rolling his eyes as he picked at some dried noodle stuck to the kitchen bench.  "On a scale of one to that last kid, how stupid is she?" he asked.

"He.  Dean's a he.  Self-righteous, stuck-up prick of a thing.  Grades dropped and he couldn't play.  One of _those._ "  Cas replied, pulling his shirt back on and walking back into his room to change.

"Your problem.  Now hurry up.  Bar opens soon, and you have people to hustle."  His brother called back, waiting with a certain impatience for his kid brother to hurry up.

* * *

 

Between the pair, the brothers had a routine going in order to maximize profit both legal and not quite so legal.  The bar Gabriel owned, dubbed Shape Shifter upon renovation, was far neater than their apartment-- let their cleaning crew be praised.  Best investment of Gabriel’s life.  A spotlessly polished dark wood bar stretched from one end to the other, sectioning off a narrow alley way for both Gabriel and his two surprisingly loyal, if snarky, barmaids Kali and Sigrun to serve a steadily growing patronage each night.

Cas only ever showed his face Fridays and the occasional Sunday if he wasn’t otherwise occupied, beguiling, charming and talking patrons into another two rounds, and out of their jewelry in the case of a few unsuspecting, but very pretty young women.

This was his stage, dully lit, throbbing music serving to hypnotise his audience. His marks were always chosen carefully, those who'd come alone, or had been left alone to wallow in their drinks were carefully singled out.  He was sure never to push himself onto anyone, and he’d only dance with them if they wanted to, though if he’d chosen a target well enough, they always asked him to dance.

And dance they did.  Years of practise lending to an almost feline roll of his body, knowing just when to pull close, and just when to whisper little nothings into their ears.  Between the pulse of music and the occasional stolen kiss, it took little effort for him to slip a hand into her purse, or his pocket and retrieve their wallet, watch, necklace.  He’d even taken a diamond earing with nothing but his teeth and a well placed hand.

His chosen target this evening wasn’t having any of his attentions, a surprisingly short man who’d been ditched by what Castiel assumed to be his friends, though they seemed a poor example.  The conversation started out innocent enough; the weather, the price of eggs, politics.  But it soon turned a little too personal for Cas’ liking.  How old are you, where do you work, what’s your name.

This was not how he’d planned.  It was a rare occurrence, for him to have the control of most of his situations taken away from him, having to rely on practise and a sharp mind to get him out of these predicaments.

Shifting in barely veiled discomfort on his bar stool, Castiel shrugged as the  inebriated man next to him prodded at him with nosy questions.

“What’d you say your name was again?”  he asked, a wash of beer reeking breath passing over him.  Almost desperately, Castiel looked up at his brother behind the bar, silently pleading with him to help.

“Sir!  How about another?”  Gabriel asked, taking the drunks attentions away from his little brother for long enough so he could slip away unnoticed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Castiel lent against an opposing wall, watching as his brother poured another beer for his failed mark.  It was some time before he left, and Cas could slink back to the bar, a little less cocky than he had been.

“Losing your touch, huh, Cas.”  Gabriel teased, turning back to him for a moment.

“Shut up.  I just chose badly.  Won’t happen again.”

* * *

 

Groaning, Dean stretched, hands over his head and back arching and shirt-- deep blue with a spaceship on it, the one from _Firefly_ , that Charlie had bought for him last Christmas-- rising with the movement.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to this part of the public library, but he certainly remembered how uncomfortable the stupid desk chairs were.  His body was already aching, reminding him of the physical exercise he was missing out on.  Muscles that were used to strain, cramping up in memory as they fell lax, as he fell out of shape.  He figured he’d start running, keep himself up and keep himself together; before he’d started playing organized sports, it was always how he’d relieve stress.  Considering everything, he was going to need it.

Slumping back down, he checked his watch and let out a long sigh.  He’d been waiting for thirty minutes, for Castiel to show up, for them to start studying or tutoring or whatever they were calling it.  And here he was.  Sitting alone.  Bored out of his mind.

“Ten more minutes and I’m gone,” he muttered to himself, leaning back in his seat and letting his head fall back to reveal the expanse of his neck as he closed his eyes.  He could feel a headache coming on.  “Ten more minutes.”

 

 

One would think that two days would be ample recovery for what ended up being an all night affair of an after party, a common occurrence whenever Gabriel did make a grand appearance in his bar.  School had been an day of noise avoidance and a crippling hangover, bluntly ignoring pesters of Mr.Shirley because no, he was not going to elaborate on why he looked like death warmed over.

By the time he’d remembered it was indeed Monday, and he had a self-righteous asshat to teach.  Arriving some half hour late, Castiel dragged himself into the library, bag in hand, and the folder that Dean had given him clutched to his chest in an unusual show of vulnerability.  All but throwing himself into an unoccupied chair opposite Dean, he deposited his belongings onto the table and fell face first onto the cool surface with a long sigh.

Startling, Dean gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he caught sight of the man slumped on the table across from him.  Swallowing thickly, he leaned forward with a touch of wariness, brow furrowed as he glanced over him.  Hesitantly, he nudged at his foot under the table, trying to catch his attention, to make sure he hadn’t just passed out on the desktop.  “Party hard?”

Castiel gave a soft grunt, jerking his head only to regret the sudden  movement, headache pounding as he looked up at him, all baggy eyed and bleary.

“My brother has the alcohol tolerance level of a Norse God.” He grumbled, fumbling for the folder left strewn on the table, opening it without really looking, a surprisingly neat print out he didn’t quite recall typing.  “What do you want to begin with?” 

“Um...” he stared down at the few textbooks he brought, not sure where to begin.  There was so much, and he suddenly felt so very overwhelmed.  His grades, his future, everything.  It all relied on this and there was so much to do, so much to try and make up for, and he didn’t feel like it was worth the effort.  “I don’t know... I have history first period, so I guess that?”

Grunting softly, Cas nodded, sitting up with a quiet groan as his head ached.  Scrambling through the papers Dean had given him, he cast a judgemental gaze over some of his class notes.  “History.  Right.  I looked over your work.  Your Latin sucks.  It’s _Collegium_ not Collegiam.  You’ll need these terms for your Roman topic.  You did cities of Vesuvius, right?  Pompeii and various others.” He said, rubbing at his temples to try and ease the ache in his head.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, recalling covering the tragedy in class; he’d actually been fascinated by it, had ended up watching a bunch of documentaries about it with Sam while they were covering it.  It wasn’t that Dean was stupid, he did well on his exams more often than not; it was that he didn’t like doing the work.  “Mt. Vesuvius.  79 A.D.  erupted and sent ash and pumice covering Pompeii and a bunch of other towns in Italy.  Like, six meters of it or something?  Everybody died, blah, blah, blah... One of the oldest towns, super advanced for the times.  The ash preserved everything-- artifacts, people, everything.”  He felt a little thrill run through him, and he schooled his features to disinterest.  He really had enjoyed learning about it.

“What’s the big deal with it?”  Dean asked, drumming his fingers on the textbook.

“Pompeii is the best preserved city of the Roman Empire in the world.  Not touched, not updated.  It’s a very big deal.”  He said, appearing a little unsteady as he spoke.  Rubbing at his eyes for moment, he rested his head in an open palm.  “And never call it Italy.  The region in the Roman Empire was called Campania, Italy is a fairly modern concept.”

Dean’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk.  “Yeah, but Campania was in the _Italian region_ of the Roman Empire in the territory of the municipality of Pompei-- along with Herculaneum and a number of other villas.”  He paused, realizing what he’d just said, and cleared his throat as he pressed back in his chair again.  Licking his lips, he glanced down, trying to seem nonchalant.  “Or, you know, something like that.”

“Yes.  But Italy itself was not unified until _after_ Rome fell.”  Cas said, blunt as ever, as though dealing with an idiot.  It was most curious, for a flunking jock, Dean seemed rather interested in history.  “What do you know about Vesuvius itself?”

Dean bristled at his tone, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat, meeting his gaze evenly.  “Mount Vesuvius.  In Italian: _Monte Vesuvio._  In Latin: _Mons Vesuvius_.  It’s a stratovolcano-- which, by the way, means that it’s a composite volcano in a conical shape that is tall and has been built up of a number of centuries by the hardened lava, tephra, pumice and volcanic ash it expels and they’re known for their violent volcanic eruptions-- located on the Gulf of Naples, Italy.  It’s the most dangerous of its kind and is one of the volcanos in the Camanian volcanic arc, a line of both active and dormant volcanoes that center on the bay of Naples.  

“Obviously, it’s best known for the Pompeii incident, which released about a hundred _thousand_ times the thermal energy that occurred at the Hiroshima bombing in Japan.  It’s the only one that’s erupted in the last hundred years, it’s most recent being in 1944, and is considered the most dangerous volcano in the world because of the, oh, three million or so people who live nearby.  It was formed by the collision of two tectonic plates-- the African and Eurasian pieces-- and it’s name has a few different origins.  My favorite being, of course, from the Greek root that ends up meaning ‘unquenchable’.”

Resting his elbows back on the table, he gave him a challenging look, face stern and eyes hard and dark with irritation.  “Is that enough for you, or would you like me to go into literary significance of it from Roman mythology?”

If Castiel was the type to gape, he would have.  Staring at him with an almost owlish expression, he nodded slowly in agreement.  Swallowing thickly, he looked over him, oddly impressed despite the blatant insult wrapped up in his words.  Narrowing his eyes, he leant in, a little paler than usual, blue eyes bloodshot.

“If you know all this, why are you failing history?”

Dean jerked back slightly at the question, finding their faces too close for comfort.  Jaw flexing briefly, he inhaled sharply and looked away.  “I dunno.  I just... don’t do the work.”

_Why bother?  I’m gonna fail anyway._

“And I never turn up to class, and yet I’m almost topping every one I take.”  He countered, not moving back from his position, finding the hang of his head some comfort to his headache.  “I’ll ask you again.  Why are you failing?  You know the content better than the notes you’ve been given.”

Swallowing down another dumbed down reply, he huffed and stared down at the tabletop between the two of them.  “I don’t do the assignments.  You do.  It’s not like I’m going to college anyway,” Dean glanced up briefly, giving a small, seemingly uncaring shrug.  “Grades don’t matter.  So why do the work?  Now that they _do_ matter, I have to do the work, and part of the deal with Henriksen was getting you as a tutor.”

Now this was getting interesting.  An actual person was talking to him as opposed to the jumped up, conceited asshole who’d come begging for his help.  With a slightly crooked grin, he looked up at him.  “When’s your next assignment for history due?”  he asked, sensing a certain air of competitiveness around him that, if mined correctly, could be beneficial to both parties; more results for Dean, and less work for Castiel.

Meeting his gaze warily, he took a moment to flip through his mental schedule.  “Wednesday.  Vocab list on the next chapter and a current event that’s a direct or indirect effect of the historical event that we’re studying.  It can take place in the city or whatever.  Why?”

“I want your draft tomorrow.  Hope you’ve started.”  Castiel said, tone boding no argument as he stared over at him, gauging his reactions by the minute shifts of his face.  “And if you haven’t, I can help you.”

Slightly taken aback at the sudden order, he scrambled for a moment, mind reeling briefly.  “Uh, no.  I haven’t-- I haven’t started it yet.”

“Then you’d better.”  Castiel said flatly, leaning back in his chair, almost disinterested as he flicked his gaze over him.

“Right,” he cleared his throat, shifting back in his seat, pulling his history text to him and flipping it open with a sharp clatter that make him bite back a wince.

The chapters were filled with scribbled notes and highlighted passages; Dean had known that other students who had owned it would be blamed for all of it, it was an old book and no one would suspect him of it, so he didn’t even bother to blush when Castiel saw it all.  Pulling out a pen from the bag he had slung over the shoulder of the chair next to him, he skimmed through to the right page with one hand as he rummaged around his pack for a notebook to scrawl out the vocabulary list and definitions from the chapter.  

His fingers ran over the page when he found the first one, moving down the marked up paragraphs until he found the first bolded word-- the definition not far from it.  Bringing his pen to his mouth, he bit down lightly on the cap and pulled to remove it, eyes moving over to the blank page as he wrote the word down with surprisingly neat handwriting that matched the notes in the margins of his book.  He left the cap in between his lips, idly rolling it at the corner of his mouth as he worked at an even pace.

About halfway through, he glanced up, noting that blue gaze on him and he froze.  “What?”

Only slightly distracted with the way the lid of his pen disappeared between oddly delicate lips, Castiel watched as he wrote, humming softly as he saw unexpectedly neat handwriting.  Meeting his eyes, his brow ticked up, and he folded his arms behind his head as he relaxed back, keeping a half interested gaze on his progress.  With a lazy shrug, Cas rubbed at his shoulder, trying to relieve the faint prickle of his skin. “I didn’t say stop.”

Huffing out an annoyed laugh, he dropped his pen onto the desk and pulled the cap from between his lips as he braced himself and met his gaze again.  “Listen, Castiel.  I get that you’re kind of used to getting your way, but don’t try and pull that bullshit with me, okay?  Help me, that’s fine.  Tell me I’m doing something wrong when I’m doing something wrong, great.  But bossing me around like that?  It’s not gonna fly.”

Dean didn’t like the little thrill it sent through him.  Didn’t like the flare of annoyance either.

“In fact,” he continued, slumping back, and looking every bit like the underachiever he was perceived as.  “Doing it will probably just make things a lot more difficult.  So cut it out.”

Castiel raised his head from its position hung back from his chair, looking at him carefully, eyes narrowing off as he watched Dean slump back like the lazy little shit he no doubt was.  “No, I won’t just ‘cut it out’, and if you don’t like it, you can go find another tutor.”  He spat, in no mood to play around with a failing junior.  “It’s simple.  You do the work I set for you, I read it, fix up the mistakes, and then you get good marks.  Got it?”

There was no little zip of excitement this time; instead, it was all irritation.  Rearing back slightly, his teeth grit as his jaw clenched, and he paused for a long moment before he shook his head.  “You know what?  Fuck you.  And-- And fuck _this_.”

Standing, he gathered up his things, stuffing them in his bag with sharp movements.  He could feel desperation at the back of his throat, could feel some part of himself begging him to sit back down, to ignore the dick across from him, to get to work and fix things.  But he pushed it out of his mind, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and stopped to give Castiel a glare.

“Thanks for wasting an hour or so on me.  Sorry for being such an inconvenience.  But all of this?  Really, not worth it.”  He stated firmly.  “Not worth the energy I could be spending elsewhere.  I’m not going to be going anywhere, so what’s the bother, right?  It’d be a lot easier, and it would make a _lot_ more sense, to just forget it.  So thanks anyway, but I’m gonna go home now and figure out the easiest way to tell my brother that I’m dropping out.  Because, really, that’s the only logical thing for me to do.  Hope I don’t see you around, Castiel.  Have a good life.”

Dean moved to walk away, car keys clutched tight in his hand, and he headed straight for the exit.  He needed air.  Needed to breathe.  Needed to know that he was making the right choice.  Because he could drop out.  Could start working fulltime at Bobby’s.  Maybe pick up a few shifts at Ellen’s.  Make enough money to keep Sam and him in the black and send his brother off to school.  Because out of the two of them, he deserved it.

It wasn’t unusual to have someone walk out on him; generally, Castiel just let them go, but there was something about Dean’s predicament that made him falter.  Sitting up, he watched as Dean packed up, clutching a hand into his jeans as he left.  Why did he have to bring family into this?  Cas knew down to the finest little increment of self-loathing what it was like to disappoint your brothers.

Growling softly, he jostled his legs in effort to keep from getting up and following him, frustration growing by the second until in one angry huff he snagged his backpack and took after him, faster than he looked.

“Dean! Wait.”

Dean had barely made it outside, was just at the edge of the sidewalk when he heard Castiel call after him.  Coming to a reluctant halt, he stared up at the sky, cloudy in the mid-autumn season and threatening to rain as he forced himself to calm down.  Forced that boil in his gut down to a slow simmer.  Foot bouncing, he took a deep breath and then let it out, before turning around to face him.

“What?  Did I forget something?”

Castiel skidded to a halt before him, expecting him to have gone further.  Abruptly, he faltered, words lost for the first time in many years.  Breath hitching, he found sudden interest in his boots, cursing himself quietly.  He spoke the language of dominance, of violence, near fluently, but his camaraderie was stilted and textbook learnt.  

“No.  No, you didn’t...  I just figured you shouldn’t give up so fast.”  He mumbled, his usual confidence disappearing to reveal an awkward interior, unaccustomed to making friends.

Dean’s gaze traced down over him, finding them too close to one another, and he slid back a step.  He stumbled off the edge of the pavement, having to reach out to catch himself, using Castiel’s upper arm to do so.  Castiel tensed up out of reflex as his arm was grabbed, having to resist the urge to throw him off.  The second he’d gotten his bearings, he jerked his hand back like it had been burned, and he could feel the heat of a blush warming his face as he dragged it through his hair, making it stand on end, mussed and awkward.  

“Um... That’s uh-- That’s nice.  Cute, really, that you’re-- I dunno, _trying_ here.  Trying to be the good guy, to convince me not to give up, but I don’t need it.”  He stated, trying to will the flush on his face away.  Trying to will the unfamiliar feeling that came with Castiel chasing after him, attempting to convince him that he shouldn’t give up, not liking the way it sort of made something in him flutter.  “I’ve thought about all of this already.  Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

His hand dropped to his side, vaguely tingly from having touched Castiel, and he flexed it to rid himself of the feeling.  “So thanks.  But no thanks.”

Rolling his shoulders when Dean let go of him, he took a step back, disliking the situation, awfully vulnerable.  He narrowed his eyes again, trying to fathom just how Dean considered this to be a good idea.  “Believe me.  It is worth it.”  He said evenly, measured tones replaced what was usually a disinterested deadpan.  “And you will need it, trust me.  Graduate, go to college, and do something with yourself.”

“Okay, I’m not sure what’s got you out here trying to convince me to ‘do something’ with myself.  But whatever it is you see in me, or you _think_ you see in me, is wrong.”  He held his arms around, hands splayed, and took a step back as if he were on display for him.  “Because this is it.  There’s no depth here.  No secret genius or hidden worth.  I’m just some stupid guy who’s pretty mediocre at sports.  I’m not _going anywhere_.  There’s nothing to _do_ with myself.  Sorry, but you should just stop.  Putting any kind of hope in me is just gonna earn you disappointment.”

Dropping his arms, he shrugged, looking apologetic and tired.  Worn down and sick of trying.  “Again, sorry for wasting your time.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for a long time, simply peering at him, unsure what was going through his thick skull.  Blinking at him, he tilted his head, the smallest of smiles flicking his lips, realisation dawning.  “You don’t think you deserve any of this, do you.”  He said, “You think nothing good will come to you.”

Dean flinched, expression becoming suddenly shielded and blank, unreadable.  Voice dull even as he kept his gaze.  “It’s true, isn’t it?  I mean, come on... Don’t tell me you looked at me in the halls in passing, or whatever, and saw potential or some bullshit.  We both know that you haven’t given me a second glance until just now.  And we both know that it isn’t because I _deserve anything_.”

“I don’t care what you think you see, and what you think you deserve.  You have to get your grade point average up.”  Castel said, finding is argument flimsier that he would have liked.  “You said you had a brother, right?  What do you suppose he’s going to say when you turn up later?”

Leveling a warning look at him, he too a slow step forward, back up onto the curb so that he wasn’t looking up at him anymore.  “You don’t know _anything_ about Sam.”

“But I know a lot about brothers,” Castiel said, not intimidated in the slightest.  “And if I’m right, he won’t be happy at all.  I suggest we call a truce.  I’ll tutor you, and you’ll get your grades up.  I won’t get expelled, and you won’t miss the whole season.”

“You’ll get expelled?”

Dean looked confused, a small and rather endearing wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows as he frowned at him.  It made sense, honestly.  When he thought about it.  Castiel needed him to stay, not because he saw something in him, but because he needed him in order to save his own hide.  Frowning, he stepped back down slowly, almost fumbling again.  Hand coming up, he gripped the strap of his backpack, curling around it almost vulnerably.  

It was one thing to ruin his own future.  But to ruin someone else’s?  To put their potential at risk?  That was something else entirely.

He slowly nodded, swallowing.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Truce, then.”

Castiel nodded slowly, relieved that Dean had agreed with him.  “Thank you.”  He said, surprisingly earnest.  “Did you honestly think they keep me around for shits and giggles?  No, I stay because I keep people’s averages up.  Which helps keep the school’s averages up.”  He added, a slightly bitter smile on his lips, “I tutor you, and they don’t kick me out.”

“That’s...” He muttered, offering up a weak grin, like an olive branch.  “That’s kinda fucked up.”

Rolling his shoulders, Castiel straightened out, his confidence returning to him slowly, coaxed out by the weak grin on Dean’s face.  “Welcome to the education system.” He muttered.

“Are their t-shirts?”  Dean jested, a small attempt to lighten the mood, watching as Castiel stood up a bit taller.  He took it as relief.  “Because if there aren’t t-shirts, I think I’ll bow out now.”

“I don’t know about t-shirts, but I still have the tuxedo jacket I stole from Crowley’s wardrobe a few years back.”  Cas said, a little smirk curling his lips, hoping his little anecdote may ease the way.

Dean’s eyes widened comically, and he sputtered a bit, staring at him in a mix of disbelief and admiration.  “Are you serious, right now?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” Castiel asked, one studded eyebrow raised, expression sombre.

“No shit.”  He muttered, impressed, eyes drawn briefly to the dull shine of the stud as it reflected what little light there was with the movement.  “You know, I really thought most of that was just rumor.  You seriously do that kind of thing?  Knew about the bit at the convenience store last Spring, but I sort of thought it was a one time deal considering Jodi let you off so easy.”

Cas shrugged, less modest and more unwilling to really elaborate on his reasons.  At the mention of the Sheriff, he halted, brow furrowing a little.  “You know her?”  he asked, genuinely surprised that somebody like Dean would be on first name basis.

Dean flushed again, palming the back of his head with a faint wince.  “Yeah.  Yeah, she kind of dates my boss.”   _And brings home my dad when he’s blind drunk.  And kept me distracted when they carted my mom’s body away_.  “Nice woman.  Great sense of humor.”

Humming softly, Castiel nodded, appeased by his answer, though it did raise a few questions.  “So your boss is the surly looking trucker guy that loiters around every Friday?”  he asked, recalling the bearded man that had a tendency to simply shake his capped head whenever Cas was sitting in a, sadly, familiar cell.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, peering up at him, expression amused but curious.  “That sounds like Bobby, alright.  He around the Police Station on Friday nights often?”

“More often than I am.  I think he left flowers once.”  He replied, snorting a quiet laugh at the memory.

“That big sap,” he grinned, muttering mostly to himself.  “That’s a good thing to remember for later when he tries to get me to change Ms. Ferguson’s oil again.  She needs to trash that car.”

An awkward silence fell between them, and Dean cleared his throat.  Stepping back up onto the curbside, he felt his skin prickle in reply to the increased proximity between them.  It was an uncanny feeling, and what was worse was the fact that he didn’t know if he liked it or not.  

“So... tutoring?”

A soft, but very fleeting smile curled his lips, and briefly, Castiel wondered if this was what friendly conversation actually felt like, strangely warm in all the best ways.  Jerked out of his thoughts, he nodded quickly, walking away at the reminder.  “Yes.  Tutoring.  Right.”

“You, uh, you know that I don’t actually need a tutor, perse.”  Dean said, sort of wary.  “I mean, I know the material.  It’s just... applying it to the work that I need someone to help me with.  That I need someone to, you know, keep me on track?”

Castiel considered this for a moment, walking back into the library to settle at the table they’d previously occupied.  “Someone to keep you on track....  See, why can’t you be like the rest of the idiots I get lumped with?”  He said, mostly joking as he looked over at him. “I can help you with that.”

Following after him, he took his seat once more, slowly taking his books back out to set them on the tabletop between them.  Smiling small but genuine at his teasing, Dean shook his head and started flipping his history book back open.  Glancing over at him, he paused, eyes narrowing briefly.

“You realize it’ll be a lot of just... sitting there, right?  Until I need you to look over something or whatever?”  he asked, really not wanting a repeat performance of what had happened before he stormed out.  “Just a lot of motivating-- not bossing, but motivating?”  

Having since swallowed a little of his pride, Castiel nodded, watching as he flicked through his book.  “I know. I can be very patient if I have to be.”  He said, “I suppose I can manage motivation.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Dean grinned, the pen cap back in his mouth already, and he glanced up from where he had begun scribbling down more notes on his paper.  “And how, exactly, are you planning on motivating me?”

The second the words were out of his mouth, Dean faltered, eyes widening minutely.  Was he _flirting_ with him?  Jesus christ, what the hell was he thinking?   _Flirting_ with _Castiel Novak_?  That blush was back, worse than ever, and spreading to his ears.  His gaze fell back to his textbook, and he cleared his throat, swallowed, and then cleared his throat again.

“Sorry-- Th-- that was-- Ignore that.”

Staring at him for a moment, Cas gave a shrug, a slow smirk curling his lips.  “That depends on how you prefer to be motivated,” he said, far too casual to have any real depth behind it, though the smug look on his face gave away his tease.

Dean felt his heart give an embarrassing stammer in his chest, and he quickly squashed the feeling, refusing to look up and take the bait he’d practically hooked for himself.  “Free food generally does the trick.  Video games, music, old comics, cars.  I’m surprisingly easy--” he huffed out a breath, hanging his head as he cut himself off.  “And I should probably stop talking now.”

Castiel ignored that last part, leaning in to rest against an open palm, smirking like the cat that got the cream.  “Surprisingly easy?”  he asked, voice dropping to a low purr.

 Contrary to popular belief, Cas knew how to flirt; in fact, a vast portion of his income depended on his ability to charm people. To him, this was just a bit of fun because there was no way in hell that he’d actually do anything with Dean Winchester.  This was simply another act.

Actually, Dean was surprisingly _not_ easy.  The fact was, he imagined he would be, if the right person came along and the situation arose.  But he’d never had the time, never had the opportunity.  A few heated sessions in the back of the Impala-- bit of heavy petting and the like-- and one particularly close call after the state final meet last year in their hotel with a Senior from another school named Aaron Bass was all the experience he really had.

But he had a reputation.  A part to play.  Glancing up, he shoved his nerves back down, grinning slyly around the pen cap.  He knew he had a mouth that people daydreamed about, and he knew that it looked enticing wrapped around anything.  

“Incredibly easy,” he confirmed, but it wasn’t a genuine admission; it didn’t meet his eyes.  

Frankly, Castiel had seen better attempts at seduction before, but even he had to admit, Dean Winchester had some tempting lips, stretched just this side of shamefully attractive.  Keeping his gaze steadily on him, he followed the curve of his mouth for a moment, flicking up to meet his eyes only to find that something didn’t quite match.

“No, you’re not.”  He said flatly.

There was a flash of something, something like excitement, enjoying the little flare of challenge that went through him.  “Oh?  And what makes you so sure?”

Part of him wanted to go on about the importance of charactorial belief, but that would violate the character that Cas himself wore everyday.  Shrugging a little, a smug look pulled at his lips.  “Your eyes.  There’s no feeling there.  You’re talking to me, but you don’t mean it.”

“My eyes, huh?”  He leaned forward, losing some of that precious space they’d had between them as he recapped his pen and set it aside.  “What are my eyes telling you then?”

The ever narrowing space did nothing to worry him; if anything, it allowed him to see the tiny flecks of colour in his eyes, the countless freckles dotted along his nose.  “You’re not easy at all.  In fact, I’d say the closest you ever get to sex is your left hand.”

Dean grimaced, overdramatic and all for show, as he was tempted to lean back again, wanting distance between them with the suddenly intimate and near truthful topic, but knowing it would be revealing his hand and forfeiting whatever competition they were in.  “See?  You’re wrong.  Been there, done that, and when I _do_ have to work a little tension off solo?”  He’d played this game with too many people, faked being this person too many times to be read so easily, and even though there was a buzzing warmth of embarrassment humming through him and just under his skin, he gave off a rather convincing air of false confidence as leaned in just a bit more and lowered his voice to a soft husk.  “I don’t just use my left hand.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to regard him steadily.  “Your right then?”  He asked, “Or perhaps you prefer you fingers?”  He leered, lips curling in an almost predatory manner.

Dean’s breath hitched, so soft it was barely audible, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest as heat flooded through him.  His lips parted slightly, subconsciously, and he shrugged a single shoulder in feigned nonchalance.  “Or perhaps a bit of both.  But _that_ is for me to know, and you to never find out.”

He could hear the hitch in his breathing, chuckling lowly at the way his lips parted.  “I don’t know, I can be very persuasive if I need to be.”  He said, making no indication of noticing the thrill that came with such knowledge, with the way he could pull at Dean’s strings.

“Oh?”  Dean’s head canted to the side, and he offered up one of those charming grins-- the one that had won him many a girl’s affections and more than a bit of interest from the same sex.  “So we’re back to persuading and motivating, are we?”  Teeth dragged over his bottom lip, slowly and enticingly, and he felt interest stir in him-- unbridled and honestly rather frightening-- even as he kept playing.  “And ‘need’ is an awfully strong word.  You really think you’ll _need_ to be persuasive?”

“Persuasion, motivation-- they’re surprisingly simple.”  Castiel shrugged, trying not to get too distracted by the way Dean’s grin curled over his mouth, though he ended up watching for a moment.  Well aware of the proximity between them, he let his tongue flick out to run along his lower lip.  He moved his hand away from the side of his face to reach out, trailing the very tips of his fingers along Dean’s jawline, confident that would be enough to break him.  “Now that just depends on you, doesn’t it.”

Jerking back from the touch, his eyes widened, and a flush spread over his face, to his ears, and down his neck beneath his shirt.  Words were one thing, physical acts another.  

His stomach flopped, and he swallowed thickly as he sat back to put a bit of space back between them.  Regarding him warily, he quickly gathered himself back together, and smoothly plucked up his pen and popped it back open, making sure not to put the pen cap in his mouth this time.  Meeting his gaze once more, he offered up a small smile, as if saying he won the battle but he hadn’t won the war.

“Like I said,” he muttered, scribbling down another vocabulary word.  “Food, music, cars.  You want to get me to work, make sure there’s a pizza or a burrito from Chipotle on hand, and we’re good.”  Peering up at him through thick lashes, eyes alight with hesitant amusement.  “See?  Surprisingly easy.”

That same smug look took over his face again, leaning back in his chair, an odd thrill running through him at his victory.  Watching with his usual intensity, Castiel smirked at him, “Surprisingly easy,” he all but purred.

Rolling his eyes, he didn’t even bother with a response before he set back to work, moving at an even pace.

 

 

It didn’t take him long to finish his history assignments.  He moved through them steadily, humming under his breath and drumming his fingers in time as he worked-- a slow Aerosmith number that kept him focused.  When he was officially secure in their completion, he pushed the papers across the table for Castiel, shutting his history book and then pulling another text to him so that he could open it and start working on another homework assignment without needing to be asked or told.

Skimming through his Biology textbook as he filled out a worksheet, he didn’t bother to glance up when he spoke.  “So, how long are we doing this today?  And how often are we meeting?”

Castiel soon took to staring absently out the window, occasionally fiddling with the smooth protruding end of his scaffold piercing, blackened metal skewering cartledge from the outer edge of his ear to the inner helix.  His fiddling was broken by the push of papers towards him, attention drawn to the stack of paper as he pulled it closer, looking over it with veiled interest.  “You spelt Vespasian wrong, but otherwise it's good.”  He said after a moment of reading.  “We’ll meet every Monday, say an hour and a half at first, see how you do.”

Dean paused, looking up at him before he nodded, finding the amount of time perfectly agreeable.  “Alright.  Sounds good to me.”  Turning back to the worksheet, he continued talking, mostly to himself.  “Maybe I can pick up a few more hours at Bobby’s since I don’t have anything else to do until my grades are back up.”

Nodding, Castiel returned to absently staring, tempted to get out his book again, though he couldn’t let Dean see his secret little hobby.  “What is you do for him again?”

“I fix cars,” he mumbled absently, but he stopped when he realized Castiel might want some kind of clarification.  “Uh, you know, engine repair and oil changes.  If it’s broken, I can probably fix it, or recommend a person who can.”

“Yeah, I know what a mechanic is, dumbass.”  Cas snorted, propping booted feet up on the table as he leant back in his chair.

The look Dean gave him was one of antipathy, expression dull and vaguely annoyed as he ignored the comment, and he glanced at his shoes with something like derision.  “Good to know you’ve found the softer side of Payless.”

Giving a shrug, Castiel moved his feet a little.  “They fit, I can move in them, and they hurt when you kick.”  He said in thinly veiled threat.

Dean’s brows rose, more bemusement then fear, not taking the warning seriously in anyway.  Castiel had been known to get violent, but only as a last resort.  And he hadn’t given him any reason to; he definitely didn’t plan on it.  “Must come in handy.”

“More for running than kicking.”  He replied, “Blood stains tend not to come out.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”  Dean huffed out a laugh; he’d dealt with his fair share of bloodstains.  Between Sam’s-- skinned knees and split lips from too much playing-- and his own-- from soccer, to accidents in the Bobby’s Garage, and incidents with his father-- he knew _exactly_ how hard blood stains were to get out.  

Raising a mildly surprised eyebrow, Castiel made a soft grunt, leaning back in his chair to balance perfectly on the back two legs.

They fell back into a shockingly comfortable silence; Dean working and Castiel going over what he gave him.  It was odd, sitting there with him.  But not bad.  If anything, he felt strangely at ease in his presence, and he went back to humming to himself as he worked, content to do his assignments for as long as they were there.  And it was sort of nice, having someone aside from Sammy pushing him, even if Castiel was only doing it to save his own-- admittedly, very nice-- ass.  

Smiling faintly, he glanced up at him, just brief enough to not be noticeable, and kept on working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Title Song: "My Own Worst Enemy" by Lit


	4. You're My Blue Sky, You're My Sunny Day

Considering the unwillingness of both parties involved, Castiel found the entire tutoring process to be agreeable; Dean, much smarter than he seemed, hardly needed prompting, and most of the time he was reduced to sitting idle whilst Dean scribbled away at his notes.  After a few weeks, a mutual, if hesitant, acquaintanceship was reached; both of them deciding it was best to keep the snipes and snarks to a minimum to preserve their collective patience.

With a long sigh, Castiel stared absently down at his own study notes, unable to focus on science of any kind right now, let alone anatomy.  Huffing softly, he peeled off his jacket, draping it unceremoniously over the table, the ends of his tattoo peeking out from his shirt, finally healed.  Jiggling one leg impatiently, he tapped a pen incessantly against the desk, tap-tap-tapping away as he tried to concentrate to no avail.  Every so often he’d flick his gaze up to Dean, watching as he wrote only to get bored with that too, refocusing on the way each shelf was angled; anything to avoid work.

His mind wandered in his staring, recounting the shopping list Gabriel had given him two days previous, and the stupid argument he and Dean had gotten into over the stupid way he tapped along to non-existent songs, wonderful hypocrisy considering his own current pen tapping.   


“You’re doing it again,” Dean murmured around the pen cap, a habit he still had yet to shake despite the awkward teasing Castiel had done the third session they’d had.  Something about having the mouth of a porn star. 

He didn’t bother to look up, despite the way his eyes were screaming at him to.  He’d been reading for far too long; everything was starting to blur together.  Blinking a few times, he slumped in his position, posture terrible as he curved over to read through _Beowulf_.  He was searching for a usable quote for an essay he had to do-- he’d decided to do something along the lines of: completely dividing the world into “us” and “them” because of a deep-seeded fear of what we do not understand, the often violent reactions people have to that which they fear, and how it is a common theme in literature.  However, as interesting as the topic was, he’d been reading the same passage over and over for the last five minutes.

And the essay wasn’t even due until next Friday.

“Shut the fuck up.” Castiel grumbled, no threat behind his words as he threw himself almost petulantly back in his chair, feet coming up to rest on top of his own notes with an odd fluidity. “I’m bored shitless here. You think watching you read is great entertainment?”

Dean glanced up, pen between his lips, and he grinned wickedly.  “I think I’m entertaining as hell.”

“You been there?” Cas asked, all sarcasm as he jiggled his knee in attempt to relieve the boredom.

“Have you _been_ to my neighborhood?”  Dean replied, glancing back down at his book, but still finding himself unable to move past where he’d been.  “We’re talking some _Nightmare on Elm Street_ kind of bullshit.”

Tossing his pen aside, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes as he tried to relieve some of the tension there.  Sighing, long and drawn out, he peered over at Castiel tiredly.  Dean gazed curiously at his notes, and then at the lounging man before him, brow furrowing briefly.

“Don’t you have a test to study for?”

Cas idled, hanging his head back, vaguely aware of the eyes on him as he lounged back, shirt riding up a little as he stretched out.  Raising his head a little, he shrugged, “Yeah. And?”

“ _And,_ ” he replied, straightening in his seat and pointedly not looking at the appealing strip of skin that revealed itself as Castiel stretched.  Tilting his head, he snapped his book shut, enjoying the way it seemed to make his tutor startle just a bit before their gazes met, and lifted a questioning eyebrow.  “And you’re not studying?”

He grumbled, looking over at him with a faint glare as he relaxed again.  “Its just science.  I’ll be fine.”  He replied, almost too casual to be talking about some of his last exams.

“So you’re not studying,” he confirmed, and hesitated for just a moment before he leaned forward, almost excitedly.  “Then let’s get out of here.”

Brow furrowing, Castiel sat up, his interest gained.  “And where would we go?”

“Could drive up to Arcadia-- the Wilderness Park.  It’s forty minutes out.  Could park by the lake, hang out or something?”  There was a fear bubbling up in him, feeling vaguely foolish as soon as the suggestion had rolled off of his tongue.  Just because he liked to go up to the lake and think didn’t mean anyone else enjoyed it.  “Unless you have another idea?  Or unless you’d rather study?”

Considering it for a moment, Castiel nodded, seeing no reason why he shouldn’t.  Anything was better than this.  “Does it look like I want to study?”  He deadpanned, “How are we getting there? I don’t drive.”

Smirking, Dean pulled out his keys, and they jingled faintly as he waved them in the air.  “Don’t worry.  I do.”

Dean was quick to gather his things.  To say he wanted out of that library was an understatement-- he spent too much time there as it was, with tutoring and volunteering.  Standing, he slung his bag over his shoulder, and shoved his chair back under the table.  Walking around it, he swiped at Castiel’s feet urgingly, gesturing with his head over to the exit. 

“Come on, Prince Charming.”  He said, already backing towards the door.  “It’s midnight, and we need to get out of here before we turn into pumpkins.”

Rising to his feet, Castiel rolled his shoulders a little as he packed up his things, eager to get out of the library, even if it meant putting up with Dean’s bad jokes.  “That was terrible.”  He said flatly, following him out.

“I think I’m hilarious,” Dean chortled, grinning wryly at him. 

The Impala sat waiting for them, sun glinting off the paint perfectly.  Dean’s grin softened into a genuine smile at the sight and anticipation buzzed in him; going out for long drives like this were something he’d enjoyed doing since he was a kid. 

Back before John had completely lost himself in the bottle, he would take him and Sam out to some of Mary’s favorite places.  He had even pulled them out of school for a week to drive across the country once.  Dean liked traveling, liked getting lost out on the road.  He’d been taking the Impala out by himself since he learned how to drive her, and couldn’t count the times Sheriff Mills had caught him out in the Chevy underage.  She’d always been surprisingly lenient considering, probably because he always obeyed the traffic laws, at least within her district.  When he was stressed or everything was too much, he could always just... take off.  For an hour, for a day.  But he always came back, because Sammy was waiting for him at home.

Sometimes, though, he thought of just driving away.  Packing everything up, and just leaving.  Forgetting everything and everyone, living from moment to moment.  Unfortunately, Dean had responsibilities.  Ones that he would never think about bowing out of.  Sam came first.  Always.

Opening up the driver side door, he tossed his back into the back, and glanced over at Castiel where he had stopped a few feet away from the car.  Leaning against the edge of the roof, he looked at him expectantly, still smiling in that contented manor.

“Your chariot awaits, Charming.”  He informed him matter of factly, pressing against the side of his car, enjoying the heat that ebbed off of it from sitting so long in the sun.  “Are you getting in or what?”

Castiel raised a thoroughly unimpressed eyebrow, snorting softly at the car; he'd never been one for cars, small, and stuffy, and _slow._

"I'd hardly call this a chariot.  More an ox cart."  He retorted, reluctantly getting in anyway, depositing his bag over on the back seat.

“Do _not_ insult my baby,” Dean told him in all seriousness as he ducked into the Impala.

His hands stroked over the wheel with a deep familiarity, and he stuck his key into the ignition with a smooth motion that spoke of practice.  The engine purred to life, radio clicking on and streaming out a Zeppelin song as he shifted into drive.  Pulling out of his space, he peeled out of the parking lot, not even giving Castiel a chance to buckle in before he was taking them down the street, headed for the highway.

“Your _baby?_ ”  Cas asked, almost disbelieving as he settled in, pulling over his belt because frankly, he didn’t want to die in a relative stranger’s car.  As the radio started, he crinkled his nose, taking the initiative to fix the damn station because Zeppelin, _really_?

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!”  The car swerved subtly, and Dean reached out to smack his hands away from the dials.  Straightening back out, he gave him an aghast look from the driver’s seat, and shook his head.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

Castiel tensed as the car swerved, taking a death grip on the inside door handle.  “Changing the fucking channel.”  He snapped, fiddling with the dials until something less ancient started playing.

Dean laughed, a bark of sound, and moved to change the station back as soon as Castiel’s hands were out of the way.  “Nuh uh.  I don’t think so.”

With a long suffering sigh, Cas sat back in his seat, a little petulant as the channel was changed again.  “What are you, eighty?”

“No.  I just happen to have good taste.  You’ll learn to appreciate it, trust me.”

Snorting softly, Castiel relaxed back again, tapping insistently at the window frame.  “Whatever.”

“Oh, my god.”  Dean practically giggled, eyes straying from the road to take him in for a moment, he smiled lopsidedly and came to an easy stop at a red light.  “Are you sulking?”

“Shut the fuck up,”  he grunted.  “I don’t sulk,”  he insisted, knowing it was a little bit of a lie.

Biting back another amused sound, Dean watched the light turn to green and rolled forward at an easy pace.  The song changed over, some old tune by the Allman Brothers Band, and he started drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat.  He glanced over at him again, seeing the look on his face, and finding it nothing short of precious.

“What do you call that, then?”

Castiel made no attempt to reply, knowing he couldn’t if he wanted to keep what remained of his dignity.  His bottom lip protruded a little without his consent, but pulled it back to avoid the pout when he noticed.

Dean bit his lower lip, swallowing down another jibe.  He kept his eyes forward, on the road, and drove on.  It wasn’t until they had hit the highway and a string of commercials came streaming out of the stereo that he tried to pick up the conversation again.  It wasn’t anything big.  Just a comment on the weather, like the complete lameass that he was, and how it’d been so clear for the last week-- asking how long he thought it was going to last like that before the Fall season set in.

Turning to look over at him, Castiel raised an eyebrow at the sheer lameness of his questions.  “The weather, really?  Out of all the possible conversation topics, you choose the weather?”  He asked, practically dripping in insult.

Rolling his eyes, a faint blush burned at his cheeks, and he gave him a dry look.  “You got anything better to talk about?”

“I don’t know.  Anything but the fucking weather.”  He grumbled.

“...what’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t know...  Blue, I guess.”  He replied, unsure as to why that was important.

Dean hummed, not exactly surprised by his answer.  Aside from black, blue seemed like a staple color in Castiel’s daily wear.  And if Sam ever found out he was thinking about another man’s clothing choices, he would never live it down. 

“Okay.”  He swallowed, finding their conversation so very stilted and uncomfortable, wishing Charlie or Meg was there to break the ice for him.  “Um... favorite movie?”

“I don’t watch much television.”  He said, almost not wanting to reveal his strange obsession with the _Sound of Music_.

“Good thing I didn’t ask about TV, then.”  Dean replied, giving him a pointed look.  “Favorite _movie_.  C’mon, man, you’ve gotta have one.”

“I don’t watch those either, though I can be partial to a Tarantino on occasion.”  He said deflectively, tone boding no further prying in the subject.

“Oh, so you saw _Django_?”  Dean asked curiously, happy to have found something they could talk about.  “Did you like it?”

“It was entertaining.  Shame the German died though.”  He replied, mostly absent considering it was a fairly safe opinion.

Nodding, Dean paused in the stiff conversation to change lanes, tired of riding a Honda’s ass.  The engine revved as he picked up speed, flying smoothly past car after car, ten or so miles above the limit.  “To be honest?  I didn’t really like it.  I thought it was basically just a pre-Civil War era _Kill Bill_.  Don’t get me wrong, it was funny and classic Tarantino, but not his best.”

Only a little concerned at the increasing speedometer, Castiel gave a shrug.  “True.  It was good though, easy to watch, didn’t have to think much.”

“That’s not the sign of a good film,” Dean made a face, shaking his head.  “A good film isn’t about not thinking, it’s about story and acting and cinematography all coming together to... you know, take you someplace you’ve never been.  Experience things you otherwise wouldn’t.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, surprised that Dean would actually care about these kinds of thing.  “Yeah.  I guess so.”  He said, nodding his agreement, though part of him wanted to discuss the filmic and acting techniques of cinema.

Looking away from the road again, he glanced over at his passenger, that endearing wrinkle appearing between his brows.  “You... really don’t care about this stuff, do you?”  he asked, feeling foolish for even bothering.  “I mean, what do you like to do, aside from skip classes and steal candy from convenience stores for your older brother?”

A very repressed part of him wanted to shout ‘I take acting classes and read plays and spend weekends rehearsing,’ but he managed to contain that urge, instead clearing his throat to shrug a little. “I uh... Work at a bar, I run from authoritarian figures because I already have a police record that I’d rather not add to.”

“And you...” Dean paused, looking back to the road, and making sure to wave at another driver as they pulled one lane over to let him pass.  “You enjoy doing those things?  Or you just do them.”

Cas shrugged again, “The bar’s fun, if you talk to the right people, and the running is interesting at the time, though I generally regret it later.”  He replied, trying to keep much of his personal life out of the picture.

“Ohh-kay,” Dean drew out the word slowly, noting the sort of withdrawn manor Castiel was talking to him with, and he felt like maybe he should just stop pressing.  They didn’t have to be friends; Dean had just thought maybe they could be.  “I’m assuming you don’t want to know anything about me, so I guess we’ll just go back to awkward silence?”

Castiel abruptly shook his head, turning to him with an oddly interested gaze.  “No. I’d quite like to know about you.”  He said, wanting to draw the conversation away from himself.  He trusted Dean a little, but nowhere enough to tell of his life.

Almost choking on his own tongue, he sputtered for a moment, and then blushed just a bit as he glanced over at him.  “Seriously?”  he asked, voice vaguely rough.

Cas shrugged again, an amused smile curling his lips at Dean’s reaction.  “Sure.  You seem interesting enough.”

“Um... alright... What do you-- I mean, what do you want to know?”

“What’s your favorite color?” Cas asked, throwing Dean’s words straight back at him, at a bit of a loss as to what was acceptable to ask about.

“Oh, so you have a sense of humor?”  Dean laughed, looking over him in bemusement, tease in his voice; his expression softened, though, as he looked back at the highway.  His tone did too as he thought of his mother and her eyes and the apples that grew in their backyard.  “Green.”

Sensing some kind of underlying emotional content, Castiel decided colors were not a good topic.  “And what do you like to watch?”  he asked, tone a little wary, moving in patterns he generally avoided, gaining information for the sole purpose of getting to know someone as opposed to trying to gain some kind of manipulatory leverage.

“ _That_ is a loaded motherfucking question,” he chortled, almost glancing at him again, but refrained as someone pulled in front of him abruptly, and he growled out a curse under his breath.  “You sure you want to get into that?”

It took him a moment to see the error in his wording, mentally cringing at his own stupidity.  “No.  You probably shouldn’t answer that.  I don’t think I want to know your porn habits.”  He said dryly, “Unless you think it would interest me, then by all means, go ahead.”

Dean went beet red-- that blush that disappeared down beneath the hem of his shirt.  “ _Not_ what I was talking about.  I literally meant that I watch way too many television shows to be considered healthy.”

“Oh.  Right.”  Cas mumbled, suddenly feeling very stupid.  “I suppose that’s interesting as well.”  He added, trying to fix his error, but probably making it worse.

Almost bashfully, Dean shrugged, clearing his throat past the embarrassment of their communication error.  He hesitated for a moment, not really sure if Castiel truly wanted to know what Dean wasted his time watching.  Catching sight of the exit they needed, he started the slow drift over in the lanes, turn signal on as he made his way towards it. 

“Do you want a list?”  he asked, checking over his shoulder in his blind spot.  “Or just a general idea?”

“If the list is as long as I think it is, then no, just the rundown.”  Cas said, offering a slight smile.

“Just a bunch of nerdy stuff, really.  Stupid shit that no one really expects.  You know, _BSG, Star Trek, Doctor Who--_ anything by Joss Whedon, so _Firefly_ and the like.  Plus a few random others.  During the summer I watch this stupid law drama called _Franklin and Bash_.”

Dean paused, looking over at him as they came to a rolling stop at another light.  “You should watch some of them sometime.  I’d start easy, though.  Don’t just jump into _Who_ or Whedon.  They’ll rip your heart out and feed it to you.”

Castiel just sat there looking blank, names passing right over his head.  Wasn’t a firefly just a bug?  “I know _Doctor Who_....  The one with the blue phone booth thingy....  But what the fuck is a _BSG_?”  He said, brow furrowed in confusion.

“First of all, it’s called the TARDIS.”  Dean replied with a half-cocked grin, starting slightly when the light changed back to green.  “And _BSG_ stands for _Battle Star Galactica_.  I watch the new show, not the old one, though both are good.  It’s about this war, between the humans and the Cylons--” he cut himself off awkwardly.  “--and you probably don’t care.”

The furrow in his brow only deepened as Dean ‘explained’ or at least tried too.  “What the hell is a Cylon?”  he asked, interested though he didn’t see the appeal in Sci-Fi; Gabriel was always trying to get him to watch those ancient movies with him. Trek something, he didn’t care.

“It’s like an Android, if you’ve ever seen _Alien_ or played any futuristic video game ever made,” Dean supplied, taking a right turn as he headed for Interstate 210.  “Except super advanced.  And they turned on the humans who made them and started a war-- but this takes place after the humans are on the run, hunting for a planet that _was_ Earth.  Pretty good, honestly.  Really interesting twists.”

Honestly, he thought Android was a phone.  Nodding slowly, Castiel processed what he was hearing.  “Perhaps if I get a spare moment I’ll look into it.”  He said evenly, making a mental note to find a stream site.

“For real?”  Dean looked over, surprised for a moment, but had to look back as he merged on to a different highway.

“It seems interesting enough, and I get bored easily.”  Cas said, fiddling idly with the bar through his right ear.  One of these days he’d break that habit, today was not that day.

Dean’s mouth curved, mildly impressed with his own selling skills, “You’ll have to tell me if you like it or not.  Who your favorite character is, that sort of thing.”

Nodding, Castiel took to staring out the window again, watching cars and rather uneventful scenery fly past.  “I’m a little possessive of characters.”  He said quietly.

“Yeah?”  Dean asked, genuine interest in his tone.  “Don’t watch any of Joss’ stuff, then.  Like I said-- rips your heart out and feeds it to you.  He takes a keen kind of pleasure in letting you get attached, only to kill them off later.  It’s painful business.”

Castiel snorted a faint laugh.  “I take your Joss and raise you a William Shakespeare.”  He said flatly, taking a little chance in letting Dean know a bit about him.

“No, that’s different,” he said, no judgement evident in the way he spoke.  “Shakespeare is great and all-- the tragedies are tragic, and the comedies are comedic, and the romance is to die for.  But when it comes to getting attached to a character and losing them?  Whedon does it better.  Because it’s _literally_ going to be your favorite, every goddamn time.  And you never see them coming.”

Humming softly, Castiel nodded his agreement, despite never having watched anything by this Whedon.  “Why do you watch these things again?”  he asked, not seeing the logic in going after such pain.

“Because despite the really just _terrible_ fucking deaths, the shows are _awesome_.”

“Masochist.”  Cas chuckled, leaning back in his seat as he waited for the damned car to stop already, the enclosed space was getting to him.

“Well, when the mood takes me,” he bantered playfully, but there was a hint of honesty just under the surface.

Raising an eyebrow, Castiel let a leer curl his lips, “I’ll keep that in mind.”  He purred, picking on the glimmer of truth in Dean’s jest.

Glancing over at him, he met his gaze with a wicked sureness, lips curling into a lopsided but charming smile.  “I’m sure you will.”

Smirking at him,  Cas let his head fall back against the surprisingly clean upholstery, strangely comfortable with Dean despite their unsteady relationship.

Sensing the conversation had come to an end, at least for a while, Dean turned his full attention back onto the road.  Onto the drive.  He let his focus center on moving along, speeding just enough to pass other cars, and he hummed along with the Creedence song that came drifting through the speakers. 

It wasn’t long before he was singing under his breath.  Castiel was so quiet that he nearly forgot he was there, and he’d already made enough of a fool of himself in front of him before that he honestly just didn’t care anymore.  Drumming his fingers along with the beat, he bobbed his head, and like a little dance as he smiled contentedly to himself.

When they were nearly there, he felt his stomach growl, and he glanced over to the passenger side curiously.  “You hungry, Cas?”

Suddenly aware of the grumble in his stomach, Cas replied, “Yeah, actually.”  He replied, craving something deep fried and smothered in grease, only just registering the use of his nickname, and oddly warmed by it; he hadn’t been called that by anyone (with the exception of Gabriel) for years.

“Okay, cool.”  He grinned, taking their exit, and slowing down to street limits.  “Where do you wanna go?  I’m thinking cheap and easy-- we can eat when we get to the park, sprawl out on the hood.  I know this great spot.”

“You seem like you do this often.”  Cas remarked, a small smile curling his lips.  “Cheap is always good.”  He added, knowing his own purse wasn’t exactly brimming with usable funds; bar ownership earned less than you'd expect, and pick pocketing even less than that.

Dean hesitated.  Jaw flexing very briefly, he cleared his throat, and turned into the parking lot of an In ‘n Out.  Pulling into a space, he killed the engine and slumped back in his seat with words waiting on his tongue.  Practically burning a hole in his mouth.

“I do.  Do this often, that is.”  He admitted, not moving to get out of the car yet.  “Not with anyone else, not really.  Sammy-- my brother, sometimes, when I can drag him away.  But mostly I just come up by myself.”

_Because my mom took me there when I was little, and I like to go and think about her there._   


“Let’s, uh,” he wrenched his door open, moving to get out.  “Let’s get some food?”

Taking the hint, Cas got out of the car, relieved for the fresh air and steady land beneath his feet.  “Food’s good.”  He replied.

* * *

 

Stretching out languidly over the hood of the Impala, Dean hummed his contentment as the heat of the engine emitted up through the metal and soaked into his skin.  Driving for any extended period of time always left him sort of tight and wound up.  After a long moment of just relaxing, he sat up and scrubbed his hands through his hair until it stood on end, sun filtering down through the leaves in golden streaks. 

It was a beautiful spot.  Right on the edge of the lake, the water was still in the later afternoon, refracting bits of sunshine perfectly.  The weather was just warm enough to swim, but he wasn’t here for that today. 

“Taking your sweet time getting out of the car, Cas.”  He called softly over his shoulder as the other guy stepped out of the vehicle.  “Better not be eating all the fries.”

The lake was much nicer than Cas anticipated, less grimy water and more yellowing leaves; in fact if the mood did strike him, he thought he may just go swimming.  Stepping out of the car after a moment to admire the view, he took up a place on the hood of Dean’s car, lounging out with near cat like ease.  “And if I do?”  he asked, mostly joking as he unwrapped a burger.

“If you do--” he reached over, snatching up the bag that had their food in it so that he could grab his own burger and and handful of fries.  “If you do, I’ll just be forced to leave you here, stranded and alone.  And no one will ever be the wiser.”

It was a legitimate threat, because no one would come get him, and Gabriel wouldn’t worry all that much if he was gone for the night.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  He said calmly, starting on his burger with a strange tenacity, humming in satisfaction.

Dean chewed a few fries, kicking off his shoes with a familiar ease, and tucked his legs up underneath him as they sat together; it was all so strangely comfortable, like they’d been doing it for years.  “Don’t be so sure.  You have no idea what I would and would not dare to do.”

The threat held absolutely no venom, and instead he smiled teasingly as he munched on another fry.

“Shut up.”  Cas mumbled around a mouthful, not particularly worried about how gross it was.  Lounging across the hood his Dean’s car, he let his head fall back against the windshield.

Laughing, Dean started to unwrap his burger, but stopped in the middle of it when their eyes met.  It was a warm look, still vaguely tentative, almost questioning in the way they stared at one another, and it stirred something within Dean that he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.  It wasn’t bad, but it was strange and new.  An odd look came over his face, like dawning realization, because there were words just hovering in his mouth and he felt for sure that Castiel felt the same way. 

“Mamihlapinatapei.”  He stated, almost breathy, and he knew that it must just sound like extremely fancy gibberish.

“Bless you.”  Cas grumbled, not looking up at him, licking what remained of what appeared to be mustard off his finger tips.  After a moment, he realised that that wasn’t a sneeze, looking up at him with a furrow between his brows, Castiel tilted his head.  “Mami- what the fuck now?”

“Mamihlapinatapei,” Dean repeated, wry and faintly amused.  “It’s Yaghan.  A form of Spanish from Tierra del Fuego.  It’s the wordless, yet meaningful look between two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start.”  He held his hands out in grand gesture, grinning like he just solved a puzzle.  “Mamihlapinatapei.”

Castiel gave a huff of surprise when Dean explained, though he couldn’t bring himself to disagree.  It was oddly true, the more he thought about it; neither party was willing to push too far, though both wanted to know more.

“Mamihlapinatapei...  Yeah, I guess that’s us.”  He said, offering a smile to him as he turned his head, looking over at Dean with an oddly fond gaze.  Maybe this is what having a friend was like, talking about weird shit, and eating cheap food, because you haven’t got anything better to do, and yet, you couldn’t think of something more entertaining if you tried.  “Where the hell did you learn that anyway?  Pretty sure basic Spanish doesn’t cover words like that.”

“Um...” he chuckled self-deprecatingly, almost not wanting to go into it, but knowing that it was what both of them were waiting for.  For one of them to take that leap of faith, to open up a little bit.  It made him feel vulnerable, revealing the stupid little things that he did for entertainment-- the small habits that he enjoyed doing.  Watching old films and TV shows, listening to records, reading classic novels.  The small habits that he did to remind himself of better times.  “I get bored.  My mom, she was a teacher back before I was born, and there are all these books in my house filled with the strangest shit.  There’s one that’s got a bunch of words from other languages that mean really specific things we don’t have singular words for in English.”

Dean took a bite of his burger, pausing to chew for a moment before he continued, gesturing up into the trees.  “Like that.  The name of the sunlight that filters through the trees is called komorebi in Japanese.”

“Komorebi.”  Cas said, testing the word in his mouth, the feel, the texture, the sound.  A smile curled his lips, strangely fond as he looked at Dean, “Got any more?”  he asked, finishing his burger and stealing a chip from Dean with no finesse whatsoever.  Cas decided he liked this feeling, the little details revealed for no reason other than the enjoyment of sharing information.

Dean was stumped for a moment, and he had to sift through the little bits of knowledge in his mind before he could think of another for him.  “Meraki.  It’s Greek.  Basically means to do something with soul or-- or creativity, love.  To put yourself completely into your work.”

“That I can identify with.”  Cas said, more quiet than he usually might, a little tentative even if the information was a little vague. 

“Yeah?”  Dean asked, too curious for his own good, and there was a lapse in conversation as he chewed down the last bite of his burger, continueing to idly eat his fries.  “How so?  What do you do with meraki?  Or... what do you meraki, however the goddamn tense of it works.”

Castiel hesitated for a moment, shifting a little awkwardly as he debated whether to tell him or not.  “There are a few things I enjoy doing.  I uh.  I take acting classes sometimes; I enjoy those.  Becoming another person, just for a little while.  I suppose that counts as meraki.”  He said, avoiding his gaze, just in case.

The admission was more then Dean had gotten out of him in the last three weeks, and he accepted it with a grain of salt.  Taking a moment to look him over, finding him almost self-conscious, he couldn’t help the smile that stretched over his lips.  He was happy.  Happy that Castiel was opening up too, that the thing that he felt, that potential for something more than just tutor-pupil, wasn’t just something he recognized.  He was practically beaming.

“That’s cool,” he replied and found himself on the end of a disbelieving stare.  “No, seriously.  That’s really cool that you’ve got something like that.  Is that what you want to do?  Act?”

Cas looked up at him, hopeful at first, slowly growing more and more defensive.  He didn’t like being laughed at, and he never shared information for that reason.  But the look on Dean’s face didn’t seem teasing-- it was genuine.

“You think so?” he asked, unusually unsure for someone so confident.  Expression softening, he looked at Dean carefully, a small smile curling his lips at the sight of the others beaming grin.  He decided then that Dean’s smile was something he’d have to see more often.  “I want to act.  I want to make people laugh, and cry, and shout.  My father, however, has other plans.”

“Ouch,” Dean winced sympathetically.  “Gotta hate controlling parents.  That’s gotta suck, keeping something you’re passionate about underwraps.  I mean, I’m assuming here, but he doesn’t know, right?”

“I haven’t spoken to my father and a large portion of my family for nearly three years.”  Cas said flatly, no regret in his tone, not missing the majority of them, though sometimes he wished he could see how his younger brother was growing up.  “So, no.  He doesn’t know about my plans, but he would disapprove.  He expects all of us to take our places in the family business.”

“Well, that sounds...”  Dean was at a loss for words for a moment, and he couldn’t believe that Castiel was being so candid with him about this.  It was like a dam had broke, and suddenly there they were, opening up to one another like they’d been friends the entire time.  A look of disbelief crossed his face, but he couldn’t help the awkward laugh that bubbled up past his lips.  “Fuck, Cas, that sounds awful.  The whole not-talking bit and the whole high-expectations.  I mean, it just sounds all around suck-tastic.”

“I don’t miss them.”  Cas said evenly, though part of him knew it was a lie.  He missed Samandiriel, and he missed Balthazar. 

And Anna.  He missed her most.

Dean frowned, tilting his head, brow furrowing slightly.  “Not even a little?”

It was a hard concept to grasp.  Even though Dean’s own father was a drunken ass, he still missed him.  Missed the man he used to be.  Missed his moments of clarity, those times he actually sobered up, especially when he was so drunk he couldn’t put himself to bed, couldn’t shower on his own, couldn’t do anything.  And he missed his mom, everyday, every moment.  And he knew for a fact that he would miss Sam if they were ever apart.

Castiel hesitated for a moment, unsure if he quite trusted Dean that much; three weeks isn't long to get to know somebody, to learn to trust them.  “I uh...  Sometimes, yes.  I miss my younger brother, and Balthazar.  We were very close once, the three of us.”  He admitted, refusing his gaze, cursing his own stupid emotions for clamming up his throat as he thought of her, of red hair and an affectionate smile.  “And my sister.  Anna.  I miss her.”

He wanted to reach out and offer comfort.  Sooth whatever hurt Castiel wasn’t talking about.  But he wasn’t sure if it would be welcomed or wanted, so he resigned himself to giving him an empathetic look.  “I’m sure it’s hard.  Being without people you care about.  I’m sorry you have to feel that.”

Cas gave a noncommittal shrug, in no mood to really elaborate.  “I cope.”  He replied as blankly as possible as he beat back the lump in his throat.  “That’s what we do, right?  We pick ourselves up and soldier on.”  He added, parroting the exact words of ‘comfort’ his eldest brother had offered. 

“Those don’t sound like your words,” he said before he could stop himself, noting the bitter inflection with ease.  He’d heard Meg mimic her father like that-- the abusive ass-- and he’d even done the same thing once or twice with things John had said.  “And that certainly doesn’t sound like not talking to your family by choice.  That sounds like losing someone.”

Dean had heard similar words before.  Carrying on after loss.  He’d had to try and do it before.  To be honest, he was still trying.

“And, if that’s the case, it’s a stupid way to do it.”  He stated, not pressing to see if he was right, not wanting to scare him off already.  “You don’t soldier on when you lose someone.  You grieve.  You remember.  Trust me, I know.”  


Cas gave a bitter little snort of of laugh, oddly hollow as he looked over at him, shaking his head.  “We did grieve.  And then we moved on.  We don’t talk about it.”  He said, voice breaking a little as memories resurfaced he tried so desperately to repress.  Her smile, and the way her hair stuck up at all angles when she woke up.  “We don’t even say her name anymore.  Not to each other.”

A solemn expression fell over his face. 

“If you want-- If you would ever like to, you can talk about her to me.”  Dean said, keeping eye contact so that he knew it was an honest offer.  “If you ever want to, I’ll listen.  Because, I mean, I get it.  Losing someone.”

He wavered for a second, looking at Dean carefully, as though expecting to see some kind of ulterior motive written all over his face.  He remained in silence for a moment, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket restlessly.  “I have a big family.  There are ten of us.  My father never was around much, and my mother died of labour complications a few weeks after giving birth to my younger brother; I was one at the time.  We raised each other-- Michael and Luc are the eldest; they oversaw all of us, kept us in school, out of most of the trouble.  But there were so many of us, that sometimes you just got ignored, they didn’t have the time to see you, or had better things to do. 

“We didn’t even notice that something was wrong with Anna; Raphael said it was just hormones, and Michael didn’t argue.  So we went about our business.  I started high school, and Anna was going to college.  We didn’t even notice and she never said anything-- she just didn’t want to do it anymore I suppose.  Swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills and just didn’t get up again.”

Dean thought of saying sorry.  Thought he should apologize, offer up sympathy for him.  But he knew what that was like.  The anger he felt whenever anyone looked at him with big eyes, placed a companionable hand on his shoulder as they tried to sooth pains they didn’t understand, that they _couldn’t_ understand.  He figured that Castiel wouldn’t appreciate it anymore then Dean did.

So instead, he just accepted it with a compassionate look on his face.  “And that’s when you stopped talking to them?”

“Gabriel was away when it happened, called back from Europe.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that mad before.  Blame was laid, punches were thrown, Michael told him to leave, so he did, and I went with him.  Put on a civil front for the funeral, and we haven’t spoken to most of my family since.”  He said, feeling somewhat relieved to get it off his chest.

“And you can’t just... talk to some of them, but not others?”  Dean knew about Castiel living with his brother.  It was one of those things that people talked about, chattered about incessantly, and so he wasn’t exceptionally surprised by that information.  “Isn’t there a way to do that?”

Cas gave a soft snort, shaking his head.  “You haven’t met my brothers.”  He said, “They wouldn’t take us back now.”

“They shouldn’t be the ones taking anyone back,” Dean muttered.  “You should.  They hurt you, not the other way around.”

Cas hesitated for a moment, thinking it over.  “Maybe one day.”  He replied, shifting a little.  “Y’know, I’ve never told anyone about that.”

Dean’s eyes widened at the admission.  It was minute, but there, his shock.  And the warm rush that came with knowing Castiel had placed a trust in him that he hadn’t in anyone else.  Quite a bit like satisfaction, and even more like unbridled affection.  Finding the situation unbelievably heavy, he felt the need to ease it somehow, before the tables turned and he found himself telling the other man all of his own personal sob stories.  He saw the shock, but made no effort to comment, instead offering a friendly smile that sat a little awkwardly on his lips, but shone brightly in his eyes.

“Guess that makes me your new best friend,” he jibed playfully and then nudged his fries over to him.  “You want the rest of those?  I’m not going to eat them.”

Not being the type to pass up food, he nodded, snagging the fries and polishing them off, just enough grease to keep them interesting.  “I suppose so.”  He said, an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, unlike anything he’d ever felt.

A silence fell between them, and for the first time since they’d met it was comfortable.  Like something had settled between them, something that had been there the entire time, trying to catch their attention, and now that they had accepted it, it was calm.  It felt good.  Humming, he unfolded his legs and shifted, laying out on the hood with his head resting back against the windshield. 

A slow smile curled on his lips as sunlight streamed down from between leaves in the trees.  _Komorebi_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 Title Song: "Blue Sky" by The Allman Brothers Band  
> Songs played on the drive:  
> "Traveling Riverside Blues" by Led Zeppelin  
> "Up And Around the Bend" by Creedence Clearwater Revival


	5. To Tell the Difference Between Shooting Stars and Satellites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief depiction of child abuse and mention of child abuse.

 

It was relatively busy for a Friday, low music providing some kind of guidance for the dancers littering the floor in a sequence of thoroughly inebriated to almost sober.  Castiel let out a low sigh from his place perched on a barstool, back to the crowds as he counted his night's takings.  A gold ring from a womans hand, a hundred dollars worth of scattered notes and a tie pin.  Not his best work, but enough to get a little leverage over rising bills.  

Deciding to call it a night, Cas hailed Sigrun to pour him a drink, nodding his thanks as she left to serve the rest of tonight's crowd.  With a soft huff, he rested his jaw on an open palm, an odd smile curling his lips as he recalled his week, full of now half-tolerable school and-- would you believe it-- a friend.  For the first time in his life, Castiel had a real friend that wasn't one of his brothers, the kind he could talk to, and laugh with, and jibe at without being called an asshole.  The kind of person that filled out his sadly lacking contacts list, and showed to him the wonders of the emoticon.

It was a heady sensation, the kind that he’d never expected to feel.  Oddly warm, but at the same time wary, letting in a relative stranger like that, leaving yourself vulnerable to potential hurt.  Falling and hoping to dear god that they can catch you.

A decidedly goofy looking smile spread on his lips, thinking of striking green eyes and a smile that could light up the darkest of corners.

The Shifter was no stranger to rowdy customers, occasionally getting them escorted out, but tonight was especially bad, already watching as a scuffle was broken up, both parties leaving, nursing drunken egos.  He flicked his gaze over to the older man who frankly looked like he’d just crawled out of a whiskey bottle from a year holed up in there.  What was probably a dark head of hair peppered with grey, hung over the polished wood of the bar, cradling a glass like a newborn child.  The occasional slur he made was ignored by the bar staff, Kali giving him a scathing look when he grunted something unsavory her way, and she mumbled to Gabriel about keeping an eye on that one, recognising his face from a few times before, getting so unbelievably wasted they almost called the paramedics.

Before long, his rambling grew in intensity, spitting out mumbles to anyone who came close enough to scent the reek of old booze, curses, and half garbled stories of a blonde woman who’d left him all alone.  Taking some kind of pity on him, Kali poured him another round, more in hopes he’d pass out than in efforts to sooth what seemed to be a broken man.

A few rounds later, Kali looked down at his slightly sagging form, taking his glass away from a limp grip.

“I think that’s enough for you tonight, sir.”  She said simply, expecting the usual backlash from such protocols.

His response was a loud thud of a hand against wood, glaring up at her as he took his glass back.

“Sir.  It’s time for you to leave.  We can call a taxi if you so wish.”  She said coolly, casting a glance back to Gabriel as he watched on.  

Looking groggily up at her as he tried to stand upright, stumbling a little as he stepped away from the bar, spitting insults to the thoroughly jaded Kali.

“Never liked this place anyway, fridged fuckin' waitress telling me when I’ve had enough.”  He slurred, managing to head for the exit in a poor attempt at walking, letting his glass drop with an intentional smash against a stone floor.

Gabriel let out a long suffering sigh, knowing there was no way this guy would get home, and if his previous track record was anything to go by, he’d probably stumble back in soon enough.  With sadly familiar motions, he dialed the local police station, motioning for Cas to get out of there just in case.

“Miss Mills.  Yeah, me again.  We have a certain Winchester problem...  Yeah, I know.   _Yeah,_ I get that, but I’m not refusing patrons who haven’t started anything too major.  The more the merrier.  Just come get the sorry son of a bitch before he drowns in his own vomit.”

* * *

 

“What?”

Dean was elbow deep in soapy water, phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder, that endearing wrinkle between his eyebrows as he listened to Charlie babble on the other line.  It had been a good week, if not a long one.  There had been a lot of work for him to catch up on because he’d wanted his essay out of the way for the weekend, and he’d ended up asking Castiel to go over it for him, which had turned into inviting him to lunch.  Which turned into another lunch.  Which turned into exchanging numbers-- though neither of them had called one another, they had sent a few sporadic texts.  It was sort of crazy how easily they got along, how easily they could joke with one another, though it seemed like they were always so tentative with one another before one or the other would break the ice somehow.

He had planned to spend his Friday night unwinding over at Charlie’s house with some fresh brownies and a long round of playing _Borderlands_.  Unfortunately, Sam’s plans to go over to a friend’s place that night had fallen through, which meant Dean was on babysitting duty.  It wasn’t like he could expect John to be there, after all.

“Charlie, breathe.”  He chuckled, pulling the ceramic pan out of the sink to rest it on the edge, pausing to fish around the water for his sponge.  Dean had made lasagna for the both of them-- the leftovers, though there weren’t much because of growing boys and all that, had been placed in the fridge for later-- and the only problem with that was the soaking and scrubbing that always came _after_ baking lasagna.  “I don’t know why you’re coming to me with your girly problems.   _You’re_ dating her, not me.”

‘ _Dean Winchester, I am coming to you in my time of need, and you’re mocking me_.’  Dean grinned wryly, knowing for a fact that she was probably pouting, hiding in Meg’s bathroom as she stressed out about the older woman’s not-so-subtle advances.  ‘ _I’m freaking out here.’_

Rolling his eyes, he leaned heavily against the edge of the sink, idly cleaning the dish in his hands.  “Well, stop.  You know she won’t push if you don’t want her to.”

‘ _... Yeah._ ’

“But you want her to,” understanding dawned, and he smiled fondly.  “That’s so precious, Charlie.”

 _‘Shut up, you prick_.’  She replied, flustered but bemused.

He didn’t bother to hide his laughter.

‘ _On a less sexually awkward note, what are you wearing?’_  Charlie asked, falling back into their usual playful banter.  ‘ _Wait, sorry.  I meant to ask what are you doing?’_

“If you really must know, I’m doing the dishes.  Thrilling stuff.”  He admitted sarcastically.

She barked out a laugh at him.  ‘ _At one in the morning?  Yeah, I’d say that’s a nail-biter.’_

“Shit,” Dean sighed, letting the pan sink back under the water, flicking his hands as he attempted to shake them dry before he gave up and palmed them against his jeans as he moved from the kitchen.  “Is it seriously that late?”

‘ _Yeah, dude.  Why?’_

“Sam’s still up, and you know what a grouch he is when he stays up too late.  I’m gonna send him to bed-- call me back in ten?”  He didn’t wait for her answer before he was hanging up, not needing to hear yet another cajole for being a mother hen.

The living room was dark when he walked in, all of the lights out.  Sam was curled up on the couch, eyes wide as he watched the TV, jaw faintly slack.  Dean paused for a moment in the entryway, leaning against the door jam to watch him, a soft smile on his lips.  He was watching an old black and white film, one of Dean’s, _The Night of the Living Dead_.  He knew for a fact that Sammy was usually a pansy when it came to horror films, which meant he was probably going to end up crawling into Dean’s room in the middle of the night, scared out of his mind.  Eighth grade or not, Sam always came to Dean when he was scared.

“Hey, short stack.”  Dean bit back a grin when his brother jumped, turning to look at him in a mix of fright and abashedness.  “Come on.  Time to hit the hay.”

“But Dean--”

“No way.  I am _not_ putting up with your grumpy ass in the morning.  Go to bed.”  

“But I’m in the middle of a movie--”

“That’s just going to end up keeping you up all night.  Go.  To bed.”

Sam huffed out a sound, frustrated and petulant, as he stood from the couch still wrapped up in a blanket.  “You suck sometimes.”

“You love me anyways--” The phone rang, cutting him off, and he hit the talk button and held it to his ear without looking at the caller I.D.  “Charlie, I thought I said ten minutes, not ten seconds.”

 _‘Dean_?’

His features instantly stilled, and Sam’s screwed up in concern as he flipped on the light.  “Sheriff Mills?”

‘ _Dean, honey, I need you to get down to The Shape Shifter.  It’s your dad.’_  He grimaced at her words, knowing that meant John was wasted.  Again.  And that apparently it was so bad the police got called.

“How bad is it?”

Sam drew close, looking up at him in question.  “Dean, what is it?  What happened?  Is dad okay?”

He held up a hand, silencing his brother with the gesture as he turned away to listen through the receiver.  ‘ _He’s just making a bit of a scene.  Too drunk to find his way home.  If I have to pick him up again, I have to write it up, and you know I’ll have to call social services--_ ’

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick him up.”  Dean assured her.  “The Shifter, right?  Off of Florence Ave?”

He barely waited for her to confirm the address before he was hanging up his phone and turning back to Sam.  Gripping both of his shoulders, he looked down at him voice strained slightly with the fear and panic that had spiked in him.  Far too stressed out for his own good, with weight on his shoulders that he shouldn’t be burdening.  

“Dean, what is going on--?”

“I have to go get dad-- He’s _fine_.  Don’t worry.”  Dean said, pushing aside his own worries to sooth Sam’s.  “I’m gonna go bring him home, but I need you to go upstairs and try to go to bed, okay?  Take the phone with you, Charlie’s gonna call in a couple of minutes, tell her there was an emergency and that I’ll get back to her.  Can you do that for me?”

Sam frowned, looking none too pleased by any of this.  “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” Dean smiled weakly, ruffling his hair before he kissed his forehead.  “I’ll be back soon, I promise.  Lock the door behind me.”

Grabbing his keys, Dean slung his leather jacket on and headed out the door.

* * *

 

Getting by the bouncer had been a hassle.  He’d had to leave his wallet with the guy-- big, burly, and way too serious-- in order to even get in.  No money and no I.D. to try and purchase any alcohol with.  Dean understood why it was such an issue, but he was in a rush.  John hadn’t been outside, which meant he must’ve been somewhere _in_ side.  Which meant he could still potentially be causing all kinds of trouble.  The second he was in, he headed straight for the bar, appearing every bit as flustered and worried as he felt.

He spotted John almost immediately.  Slurring and swaying on his feet, but still exuding a hapless kind of menace as he loomed over another man who looked like he was trying to talk him down.  The man held his hands up, as if showing John he wasn’t a threat, and appeared rather unimpressed by the bout of curses rolling out of the ex-marine’s mouth.  He could see his father beginning to bristle, and he sped up, getting to his side as John’s hands curled into tight fists.  If he got into a tussle and someone pressed charges, Dean wouldn’t be able to avoid the police or social services, and he couldn’t lose Sam.

“Dad, come on.”  He gripped lightly at his father’s wrist, and John blinked blearily at him, as if not recognizing him for a moment.  “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Dean-o?”  John stumbled slightly, and Dean braced him with practiced ease.  “Dean, what’re you doin’ here?”

“I came to get you.  Come on, let’s go.”  He tugged urgently, turning to give the shorter man an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry if he’s caused any trouble.  I’ll get him out of here.  It won’t happen again.”

Gabriel’s stance didn’t waver even as John was lead away, though there was the faintest trace of sympathy threaded through his eyes, knowing all too well what it was like to have a deadbeat of a dad.  Castiel had since returned from lingering outside when he heard no sirens, and was giving no indication of a police presence.  His brow abruptly furrowed when he spotted Dean guiding who Cas could only assume was his drunken father out of the bar.  A bubble of something strangely possessive curled tight in his gut.

He followed at a relatively respectful distance, having seen the man get violent before when intoxicated.  Lingering at the door Cas simply watched on, making no attempt to communicate.

It wasn’t until they’d gotten outside, Dean retrieving his wallet from the bouncer on their way through the exit, that John started to struggle.  He pulled his wrist from his son’s grasp, glaring at him with dazed eyes.  Dean’s jaw flexed with irritation, knowing exactly what was about to happen-- he’d been through it before, and he would no doubt go through it again.  Stumbling back a few steps, John pointed his finger at him, squinting through narrowed eyes as Dean licked his lips in agitation and turned to face him.

“I can take care’a myself, Dean.  Don’t need you takin’ me home like Imma child.”  He stated; Dean had heard this all before, but honestly couldn’t help but look at his own father like he was a toddler who could barely walk.  

“Dad, just come with me and get in the car.  I have to take you home.”  His voice was low, soft, coaxing and reasonable.  He’d tried challenging him before, and it usually got him smacked.  “Sam’s worried and you’re drunk.  Just let me take you home.”

John’s eyebrows drew together in concentration, as if he was trying to grasp what his son was saying to him, and he hesitantly lowered his hand.  “... I can take care’a myself, Dean.”

“Dad, c’mon, just come with me--”  Dean drew close and instantly regretted it, having to dodge a fumbling strike that John through blindly.  It easily missed him, and he was quick to catch his dad’s wrists, to try and still him before he did anything regretful.  “Dad, _stop_.”

“Get yer hands offa me, Dean!”  He growled, tugging from his grip again, and bringing the back of his hand across Dean’s jaw.  Dean's eyes fall shut and he tasted the smallest bit of blood in his mouth, knowing his cheek was going to be tender for the next few days, and grateful it was the weekend.  John stumbled, barely standing on his own, and glowered at him in warning.  “I’m yer goddamn father.  You don’t boss me around.  Now, ‘m gonna go back in a get myself ‘nother drink--”

The blow stung, but he couldn’t let John go back in.  Not when the cops had already been called once.  Not when their situation was so extraordinarily precarious with the county.  As John tried to walk away, his knees buckled, and Dean moved in to hold him up, grunting as he took the brunt of his weight on.  John reeked, and he slumped against him with a groan, Dean struggling to keep the both of them upright.

Castiel rose from his place rested against the doorframe, a grimace on his lips as he drew closer to them, looking to bar the older man's way or to perhaps provide some kind of assitance to Dean.  His jaw flexed, wanting nothing more than to punch Dean's father for laying a hand on him, but he knew better than to interveen uninvited.  A very muffled alarm went off in the back of his head, triggered by his sudden urge to protect Dean, but it was quickly silenced as John tried to push away from Dean and back over to the entrance of the club.

“Sir, you cannot come back in here.”  He said, tone boding no argument despite his clear disadvantage.

A horror-stricken expression fell over Dean’s features; he’d recognize that baritone anywhere, and he glanced over to see Castiel standing there, something raw and terrifying tightening in his gut.  It was a lot like shame.

“Who the hell do you think you are, tellin’ me what I can and-- and cannot do.  I have a _right_ \--”  John cut himself off, groaning again and keeling over, supported only by Dean as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the gutter.  

Dean, however, was too busy being startled to worry too much about his father throwing up.  He made sure to help lower him onto his knees, movements steady and familiar, and he rubbed idly at his back as John heaved-- but his eyes never left Castiel’s.  He was at a loss for words for a moment, face pale as he stared at him.

“Cas,” he started, voice cracking.  “What’re you--” he cleared his throat, wanting to look away, but finding himself unable to.  “What are you doing here?”

Mildly repulsed as the drunk began heaving into the gutter, Cas gave a stiff shrug.  He watched John carefully, guard still raised, completely unfazed by his threats; though he was thankful that he was incapacitated enough not to be too much of a threat.

“I told you.  I work here sometimes.”  He explained, looking at Dean for a moment, something like sympathy in his eyes.  “Are you okay?”  He asked, gesturing to his cheek, gaze softening as he saw a faint mark.

“A bar.  You work at a bar.  This bar?”  Dean recalled the conversation, but couldn’t remember specifics, mind too frazzled.  He remembered Castiel telling him that he worked at his brother’s bar from time to time, and it was just his luck that it was the one his father chose to get disgustingly drunk at.  Wincing at the pity in his gaze, he finally looked away, focusing on the way John’s body arched with each heave, thankfully dry, and the way his head was hanging between his shoulders.  He was gonna pass out soon.  Good for his face, bad for the rest of him-- John was heavy.  Carefully avoiding Castiel’s question, he looked back up at him with a mix of hope and embarrassment.  “Do you think you could-- Um... Could you help me?  When he’s done, do you think you could help me?  I need to get him to the car.”

The look he shot John was borderline murderous, schooling his features to nod evenly at Dean.  “For you.  Yes.”  He replied, moving from the doorway to stand next to him.  “And you didn’t answer my question.  Are you okay?”

Dean thanked god that it seemed like things were slowing down for the night and there weren’t a million and five people outside of The Shifter like there could have been.  Luckily most people didn’t give too much thought into someone drinking themselves sick, and didn’t bother giving him or John a second look even as Castiel moved to stand next to him.  Pulling himself to his feet, he shrugged, finding himself with another man in his personal space and he resisted the urge to step back.

“I’m fine.”

Castiel gave him a disbelieving look, following his movement to stand up, unfazed by the proximity.  He wanted to call Dean on his bullshit, because he was not fine, he was just hit by his own father.  But he knew that it wouldn’t make anything easier, making a mental note to bring it up the next they met.

“Of course you are.”

His teeth grit together, and he mentally cursed himself for it when his jaw flared faintly.  “I’m fine, okay?”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel shrugged, knowing he wouldn’t do any good pushing the matter. “I'm sure you are.”

“Listen, I--”

“Dean?”  He was cut off by his father, hapless and helpless, swaying on all fours and sounding every bit as wrecked as he looked.  Letting out a small sound, Dean knelt back down, slinging John’s arm over his shoulder just before he could topple over.  His own arm went around John’s waist and he tugged, straining slightly as he stumbled to bring them both to their feet.  

Castiel was much stronger than he looked, taking John’s other arm with a look of barely contained disgust, supporting the drunk at Dean’s request. Huffing softly, he took as much weight as was offered to him, half expecting some kind of repercussion from John.

John physically couldn’t do much, stumbling and weighing against the both of them, and he blinked blearily over at Castiel.  “Who the fuck’re you?”  He didn’t wait for an answer before he was letting his head lull, glancing Dean’s way.  “Who the fuck’s he?”

“He’s a friend, dad.  He’s helping me.”  Dean sighed, knowing John wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

John looked like he wanted to protest for a moment, but found his own tongue even failing him as he sagged even more.  Grunting, Dean shifted under his arm, pressing tighter to hold him up better.  Tilting his head to look at Castiel over the top of his dad’s head, he gestured weakly to his left.  

“The Impala is this way,” he supplied, moving to guide them all down the sidewalk, heading towards his car.  He had parked as close as possible, knowing he would have to get his dad from Point A to Point B, and he hadn’t wanted it to be a massive physical strain-- or, not more than it already was.

They made it there in no time, John too drunk to do much else than allow himself to be pull along.  There was an awkward shuffle as Dean tried to get the door open while still supporting his father, and he let out a sigh of relief when he finally managed it.  Making sure to fold him into the passenger seat, he leaned in and buckled his belt, smacking a paper bag against his chest and murmuring instructions not to spill his guts in the car before he pulled back and slammed the door shut.  He paused for a moment, feeling a deep sense of dread fill him, and he hesitated before he turned around, expression a mix of shame and gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said, crossing his arms self-consciously.

Dusting his leather jacket clean of nonexistent grime from where John had been resting, Castiel waited until Dean had shut the car door, nodding slightly.  “Not a problem.”  He replied, already beginning to withdraw from the parking lot to avoid what would have been an awkward conversation.  

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied weakly, “see you Monday.”

* * *

 

Dean had been dreading Monday all weekend.  He’d been dreading the tutoring that came after class even more.  He had felt the strongest sense of abience; avoiding seeing him being the only thing on his mind as he went through his day.  He didn’t want to have the conversation that he knew was inevitable.  So much so that he’d been tempted to text Castiel and tell him that he couldn’t make it.  That he would have to reschedule.  He’d been so tempted to, in fact, that when he’d gotten to the library and saw that Cas wasn’t there yet, he’d turned to walk back out, nearly running right into the older teen.  

They’d been sitting awkwardly at their usual table ever since, Dean focusing intently on the textbook in front of him, and Castiel seeming to focus intently on Dean.  It sort of made his skin itch.

Castiel let out a long sigh as the heavy silence hung over them, looking pointedly at Dean as he did his work, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Dean to offer some kind of explanation.  When nothing happened, he leant forward, pulling his book away to garner his attentions.

“Alright.  Talk to me.”

Dean reached out, grasping the edge of his text as he attempted to pull it back to himself-- almost like a safety blanket-- and he refused to meet his gaze.  “What’s there to talk about?”

“You know what,” he snapped, keeping a grip on the book.  “Is he always that way?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean huffed and sat back in his chair.  “No.  No, he isn’t always that way.  Drunk a lot?  Yes.  Sometimes violent?  Yes.  It’s not often, and it really isn’t an issue.  Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I’m worrying.”  Cas replied, expression softening somewhat.  He didn’t like seeing Dean get hurt, a foreign feeling that seemed to feel right as it settled its weight in his gut.  

“Well, don’t.”  He said solemnly, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “There’s nothing to worry about.  I’m fine.  I’m always fine.”

Cas let out a huff, disbelieving in Dean’s words.  “If you say so.”  He sighed, letting his text book go.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  He asked, voice softening in concern.

“Aside from smacking me around outside the bar?”  Dean asked, far too dry and unconcerned considering the topic, considering the very faint bruise that was still on his jaw.  “No.  He was out before we even got home.  It was hell trying to get him in the house.”

He hesitated, not wanting to talk about any of this.  But there was something eating at the back of his mind, a little knot of panic in his chest, making it feel like it was hard to breathe.  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table, holding Castiel’s gaze with something nearing desperation as he lowered his voice in what was pure paranoia.

“You haven’t talked to anyone about it, have you?”

Castiel shook his head, brow furrowing at Dean’s paranoia.  Any of the demand in his gaze softened off to nothing but concern, seeing all of his fear.  “No.  I didn’t say anything.  I don’t really have anyone to talk to besides you.”

“Well, that’s...”  Dean sighed, glancing down at his hands, feeling a flare of affection in himself at Castiel’s words.  It was sad, but it left a sensation of warmth running through him.  “I wasn’t really talking about friend-wise.  I meant, like, _anyone_.  Your brother, a teacher, a school counselor.  You haven’t, right?”

“Your affairs are none of Gabriel’s business, I despise most of my teachers, and I don’t do counselor meetings, despite my apparent need.”  He replied, trying to assure him of his safety.  “If you don’t want anyone to know, I understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t want anyone to know-- I mean, yeah.  It’s embarrassing as hell, mortifying really.  But it’s not about me, okay?”  He finally looked back up, trying to get him to understand.  “If anyone finds out about that?  About how he... _gets_ sometimes?  They’ll say he’s unfit to be a father, and they’ll take my brother away.”

Castiel frowned at the idea.  He may not have been all that close with his family, but he could relate to having them taken away.  “Wait....  What about your mother?  You must have one.”  He asked, struck with the sudden realization. There was no way for Sam to be taken away if another, capable parent was present.  And there was no way Dean could keep the entire household going, and almost pass his classes, and play sports.  Certainly his mother must be present in some way.

Dean's expression shuttered, and he inhaled sharply at the mention of Mary.  Giving him a sad look, he shook his head, subtle and small.  Just like he felt.

“I told you I know what it’s like to lose someone,” he said, voice rough.  

Cas didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t know how to word any kind of apology, or offer up any kind of sympathy.  Though he knew from experience how hard it was to take someone else’s apology because they couldn’t possibly understand, even if they’ve been there, what it was like.  What was missing.  His frown quickly tugged into a sad little smile, reaching out to press one of his hands over Dean’s.  “I won’t tell anybody.  I promise.”

Swallowing thickly, his hand twitched faintly underneath Castiel’s, and he nodded as he tried to return the smile.  “Thank you.”

After a while, he pulled his hand back, nodding slowly as he pushed Dean’s book towards him.  “Come on. I think that’s enough for today.”  He said, wanting to draw his attention away from the current conversation.

Wryly, a brow curved up and Dean grinned lopsidedly, tone glib.  “You sayin’ there’s gonna be more talk like this on another day?  Should I buy us each a pint of ice cream so we can cry together afterwards?”

“I didn’t pin you as the tearful type, but if you think ice cream is needed, go ahead.”  Cas retorted, leaning back in his chair.

Laughing faintly, he shook his head, looking down at his textbook before he glanced back up through his lashes with bemusement.  “It’s really just an excuse to eat an entire pint of Phish Food while watching _Casablanca_ , but if you’re not interested, I’m sure I can just inflict it on Sam again.”

“I like that movie.”  He said, a little absent as he was distracted by the way Dean looked up at him; he had the greenest eyes Cas had ever seen, almost unreal.  “And I’m never adverse to ice cream.”

“Ben and Jerry are my go-to ménage à trois.”  He grinned, tapping his pen against his book idly.  “And we’ll have to do that sometime.  Could make a marathon out of it-- maybe I could inflict some of those crap TV shows I love so much onto you.  Get you addicted like a proper teenager.”

“I suppose if you can find a third participant, a ménage à trois would be possible.”  Cas teased, smiling that smug little grin.  “If you're into that kinda thing.”

Unfazed, Dean tilted his head, comfortably falling back into this territory they always seemed to end up in.  “Are _you_?”

“Depends on the other participants.”  He replied, not untruthful, though he struggled to see himself being the type the share-the-love, so the speak.

“Really?”  He hummed, letting his eyes flicker over him unabashedly, trying to push at his buttons.  “Interesting.  Any other kinky secrets you’re looking to divulge?”

“Depends.”  Cas returned, knowing his was being pushed at, simply pushing back.  “An eye for an eye.  I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“What is this, _quid pro quo_ , Dr. Lecter?”  Dean hesitated for a moment before he snapped his book shut and leaned back forward, pushing it aside to better give him his attention.  To better rise to the challenge.  “Wait, let me guess.  Leather, whips, and chains-- oh, my!”

“Depends on the partner.  I wouldn’t push them, but I wouldn't exactly say no if they offered.”  He said, voice dropping a little as he lent in, completely unashamed about the information.  “But you.  Now, I bet you like to be pushed around.”

Dean hadn’t expected the sudden drop in his stomach, the sudden coil of _want_.  He had to suppress a shudder, but he couldn’t control the way his pupils dilated, darkening his eyes slightly as he regarded him.  It honestly wasn’t fair, the way Castiel’s voice sounded like raw sex.  Dean wasn’t shy when it came to sexuality-- it was fluid and filled with shades of grey-- and he certainly wasn’t ashamed of his own interests.  But he’d never expected to feel this kind of giddy desire for Castiel or that Castiel would ever be interested back; he’d never thought there would be anything beyond mild interest-- and a healthy dose of private sexual attraction.

And yet, there he was, feeling it stir in him like some kind of hunger.  “Seems like you have to _depend_ on a lot of circumstances.  You saying you’d _enjoy_ doing the pushing?”

Cas smirked at him, skillfully covering the thrill that went through him, the flop of his stomach that definitely didn’t have anything to do with the taco he ate earlier, a strange flutter the likes of which he’d never felt before.  “It depends who I’m pushing.  I think I’d like pushing you-- the way your lips would part like they do when you’re thinking.  I bet you’d make the best sounds.”

Dean's breath caught for a moment, hitching faintly and softly, almost non-existent.  His heart stammered, and he couldn’t stop the small shiver that ran up his spine.  He felt both hot and cold, desire making his toes curl, and he offered up a disbelieving smile even as his pupils blew out wide at the thought of Castiel coaxing any kind of sound out of him.  He bet he could.  Bet he’d be good at it.  He had fantastic hands.

“I’m sure,” he replied sarcastically; even if Dean did want him, even if Cas was a tempting offer, he couldn’t imagine the other man would ever actually want to do anything _with_ Dean or _to_ Dean.  “I think you just like teasing-- no follow through.  You’d make ‘em squirm, and then walk away.”

The chuckle he gave was smooth and rich, noting the hitch in Dean’s breathing, small as it was, and the dilating of his pupils.  It was a very tempting thought, and he’d always wondered if Dean was as appealing under all that clothing as he was with it.  “How did you guess?  Am I that transparent?”

“Yep.  I can read you like a book,” he said with a cheeky little smile, both of them knowing how untrue that was.  But the idea of squirming for him left a dull ache resounding through Dean.  “You really should work on that.”

“Is that so?”  Cas asked, enjoying the cheeky little grin on Dean’s face, heart rate increasing at the sight of it, lips parting ever so slightly.  They were close enough, all he had to do was lean in that little bit more, and he’d be able to find out if those lips really felt as good a they looked.  Snapping out of it, Castiel shook his head a little, smirk fading as he pulled back.  Dean was his friend. And friends did not think about kissing other friends.  “I’ll do that.”  He said, tone guarded once more.

There was a strange transition, almost stilted, and Dean felt like Castiel was withdrawing from the conversation.  Probably a good thing, too, considering how close they’d been.  How close Dean had been to removing that space between them to press his lips to Castiel’s.  Searching his face for a moment, he rested back in his chair, tugging his biology textbook back to himself.

“Good plan,” he muttered, flipping it back open to the page he’d been on.  “And we’ll have to do that _Casablanca_ thing sometime.  Maybe you could come over.  Meet Sam.  He’s been dying to meet the guy who’s whipping my grades into shape.”

A small smile curled his lips, “Yeah.  We’ll have to do that.”  He muttered, resigning himself to leaning back in his chair, avoiding thinking about the person sitting across from him lest he do something stupid and ruin what they'd been building.

“Do you work this Friday?”

“Yes.  But I can cancel.  It’s not exactly an official position.”  Cas replied, not wanting to get into the exact details of his little theft routine.

“Alright, cool.  We can head over after school-- hit the supermarket and pick up Sam from class on the way.  Any other film requests you’ve got in mind?”  He asked, sort of excited that Castiel was cancelling plans for him.

“I suppose you’d be better with the movie selection than I would.”  He replied, “Though I am overly fond of _Scarface_.”

“Mob movies, huh?  Yet another piece to the ever evolving puzzle,” he grinned, looking down at his book as he highlighted a passage.  “ _Scarface_ it is.  Maybe we’ll even fit in _The Untouchables_.  Gotta love Kevin Costner.”

The conversation seemed to ebb off.  Dean had work to do, and Castiel had work to not do, and the both of them felt it was comfortable enough to leave it as is.  It was something Dean liked about their budding friendship-- the way they could sit in silence together without needing to fill it.  He tried to focus on the words in front of him, but found himself distracted by the feelings racing through him.  

The week was going to be long, waiting around for Friday.

* * *

 

Friday couldn’t come fast enough for Castiel, each day stretching by far too slowly for his liking.  When it finally rolled around, it seemed like it wouldn’t ever come to an end.  Every class he got out of, he had to force himself not to go find Dean.  It seemed every thought that managed to pass through his head somehow related to him.  Grass was no longer just green; it was green, but not quite the green of Dean's eyes.  Assignments were no longer simple work, but things he wondered if Dean knew or would like learning.

His breath almost stalled as he stared at the clock in the drama room, forgetting his lines and his character in favour of counting the seconds it would be until he could see Dean.  He knew somewhere in his mind that this wasn’t exactly normal, but he chalked it up to finally having a friend-- a real friend-- to do something with.  Castiel was out of there like a man possessed, barging through the crowds to seek out Dean's class room, ignoring the indigent shouts as he crashed into someone on the way.  Slowing, he managed to lean fairly casually against the wall, shaking out his jacket and running a hand through his hair to smooth down some of the less obedient sections.

The class came streaming out slowly, and Cas had to force himself not to perk up in interest, settling his features into his usual disinterest as he waited across from the door.  He noticed the second Dean came out, hearing his laughter and spotting the smile on his face, and he felt something warm in him at the sight.  Those green eyes caught his as he looked away from the slight boy at his side, and Castiel took a kind of pleasure in seeing them widen as his smile brightened.

“Cas,” he moved over to him, dodging a few younger students as he crossed the hall to stand in front of him, friend in tow.  “Hi.”

“Hello, Dean.”  He greeted, pushing off from his place on the wall, and finding himself in Dean’s space.

Dean had been thrumming with excitement all day-- practically buzzing with it.  His friends had poked fun, asked him what was going on, and he’d just shrugged them off and told them it was nothing.  It had been the thing that kept him going through his long week, keeping him sane with the knowledge that Castiel was coming over to his house, that he would get to make him dinner and watch old movies with him all night; John had been home nursing a hangover and griping about bills for most of it, and it had left Dean so high strung that it was ridiculous, his only reprieve being the fact that Cas was coming over at the end of it.  A reward for all of the trouble.  

Standing there, he lost himself for a moment.  His smile softened, and his grip tightened on the strap of his book bag, gaze flitting over Castiel’s as he sank into the blue of it.  He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed before, just how blue his eyes were, how intensely blue-violet; like he was drowning or flying or some combination of the two.

A throat cleared, and Dean startled, blinking to glance over at Garth’s expectant face and a flush spread across his cheeks.  “Uh, Garth.  This is Castiel.  Cas, this is Garth.”

“Heard a bit about you, Castiel.”  Garth smiled, all warm Southern twang, and held his hand out for him to take.  Dean winced and his face only warmed even more, but he played it off with an obvious roll of his eyes.  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Thank you for takin’ the time to whip my buddy Dean into shape the way you’re doin’.  Much as we don’t like sharing him with those ball kickin’ idiots or those speedo wearing pricks, we know he likes it, and it means quite a bit.”

Castiel simply stared at the offered hand for a moment, eyebrow raised, trying to ignore the flip his stomach did upon finding out Dean spoke of him.  Finally, he shook Garth's hand; if he was a friend of Dean's, he must have been alright.

"He's no where near as difficult to watch as you make it sound, trust me."  He said, a half smile playing around his lips.

“I dunno,” Garth gave Dean a narrow-eyed look.  “You haven’t seen him play _Gears of War_.  This boy _needs_ to be watched.”

Dean elbowed his friend none-too-kindly in the side, making him grunt out a soft curse.  “Don’t you have a job to get to?  Those comic books won’t sell themselves, Garth-ie.”

“True enough,” he sighed, rubbing at the sore spot under his ribs.  “You still coming over Sunday?  Gonna try out that new expansion pack for our DnD game--”

“--the _Call of Cthulhu_ one, I remember.”  Dean blushed again, shooting Castiel an embarrassed look, mortified that he was finding out Dean was a complete nerd in such an abrupt manor-- gaming and playing Dungeons and Dragons with his free time.  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good to hear.  You know the girls will have your head if you don’t show for two weekends in a row.”  Garth grinned, rocking forward on the balls of his feet as he tucked his hands away in his levis before he tilted his head at Castiel.  “Nice meetin’ you.  Don’t feel the need to be a stranger-- if you’re interested, you can even tag along with our boy.  My house is always big enough for one more.”

An amused smirk curled Castiel’s lips, looking over at Dean with what could only be tease.  Even he knew what Dungeons and Dragons was. 

“If I ever feel the need to indulge myself in the nerd lifestyle, I’ll remember that offer.”  He said, no bite to his tone despite the wording, brushing some non-existent dust from his jacket.

“Well, we are the best place to embrace your inner dork.”  Garth smiled, practically beaming at him before he moved away, heading down the crowded hall and leaving Dean and Castiel to themselves. 

Dean paused as Garth left, adjusting his bag on his shoulder almost self-consciously, and he swallowed thickly as he glanced back over at the Senior.  “Please, do not feel the need to ever show up at Garth’s and play stupid, childish games with us.  Not saying I wouldn’t want you there, just saying my other friends are fond of humiliating me.”

Cas' smile only widened, looking over at him with unbridled amusement.  “Dungeons and Dragons....  Really, Dean?”  He chuckled, “Don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll need to indulge my inner nerd any time ever.”  He added, jerking his head in gesture to follow as he walked away.  It took him a moment of silence, a question burning the roof of his mouth, to look over at Dean.  “Who are the girls?”  He asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, Meg and Charlie.  Sometimes Ruby, but she tends to be a controlling bitch-- unfortunately, she’s a badass when we team up for our _Guild Wars_ all nighters.”  He gestured for them to move down a hall to the left, needing to stop by his locker to drop some stuff off for the weekend.  “Charlie’s been my best friend since forever-- the little lesbian sister I never wanted-- and Meg is her girlfriend.  Ruby isn’t around much, but when she is, she’s hitting on everyone.  Kind of a drifter.  Why?  What’s up?”

Castiel nodded evenly, somewhat relieved that both regular parties were out of the proverbial dating picture.  It was then his own reaction crashed down on him, unsure where the jealousy had come from, and why it was now gone.  It wasn’t as though he was trying to flirt with Dean, or that he wanted anything other than a steadily growing friendship. “Nothing.  I was just curious.”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like a cliche,” Dean grinned wryly, nudging into his side briefly before he came to a stop at his locker.  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Are you accusing me of being feline?”  Cas asked, the smile on his face ruining any seriousness in his question.

“You certainly move like one sometimes,” he muttered in reply, entering the combination into his lock before wrenching the door open.  “All sinuously, like you’re stalking prey or something.  It’s kind of sexual, actually.”   


A smirk curled Castiel’s lips, and he leaned against the locker next to Dean's, uncaring for the frustrated looking  Junior, who's locker he was blocking, that was glaring at him from the hallway only to earn a slightly haughty look from Castiel.

"Does that mean you're looking?"  He asked, voice dropping to a near purr.

Heat rose up the back of Dean’s neck as he shuffled his books around, making space for the ones he was putting away, and he shrugged a single shoulder, unwilling to meet his undoubtedly knowing gaze.  “It’s kind of hard not to.”

Cas hummed in satisfaction as he leant back against the lockers, spine arching just so as his shoulders pressed to the metal, elegant lines of long, and sinuous limbs.  “I tend to have that effect.”  He said, equally as arrogant as it was truthful.

“I’m sure,” he muttered, snapping his locker door shut and glancing over at him for a moment, eyes flicking along the stretch of his body in a less than subtle manner-- unabashed.  “You ready to go?  Or are you planning on standing there and making the underclassmen drool for the rest of the day?”

"Decisions.  So where to?"  Cas chuckled, watching the trail of Dean's gaze, pushing off the lockers with a certain grace.

Dean took in the way he moved with a kind of fluidity with a quiet appreciation.  “Movie store for snacks and films-- and then my place?  I have to watch Sam tonight, otherwise I’d say we could go to yours if that’s what you wanted.”

“Yours is good.  My place isn’t exactly people ready.”  Cas said, a little awkward, not wanting the terror that was Gabriel on his only friend.

“Neither is mine.  Generally, it’s a disaster area.  Except the kitchen; that’s always clean,” he grinned, not mentioning the fact that he’d gotten up early that day to make sure everything was spotless for Castiel’s visit, brushing by him to lead the way through the halls and streams of people, heading for the nearest exit.  “Speaking of which, what do you feel like eating tonight?  I can whip up some pretty mean burgers, or chicken breast and veggies.  Or, if you’re willing to make an extra stop at the super, we can make a pizza-- homemade, whatever toppings you’d like-- though, you’ll have to deal with olives and mushrooms because they’re Sammy’s favorite.”

Castiel gave a soft snort, picturing the mess of his own kitchen.  Following Dean with surprising obedience despite his general nature, Castiel avoided brushing up against anyone, moving between people with the ease born of practice.  "I'll eat most things."  He replied, "Though the burgers sound good.  I haven't had a cooked meal in years come to think of it."

“Seriously?”  Dean sounded aghast as he looked his way, expression vaguely horrified.  “Oh, dude, we are so fixing that ASAP.”

There were offers on the tip of Dean’s tongue-- to invite him over more often, to cook for him-- and even his older brother if he’d like-- on a fairly regular basis, to force feed him if he needed.  Unfortunately, a collision of bodies knocked the breath out of him for a moment, and the words as well.  Turning his attention to who he’d run into, he steadied both himself and the other teen, hands braced against fairly narrow shoulders. 

“Winchester!”  Green met green, and Dean let out a tight sigh as Adam beamed at him.  “Hey, man, where the fuck have you been?”

“Uh, you know, just been--”

“--busy, right.  I remember.”  Adam nodded, mockingly solemn, and Dean took a slow step back; he didn’t want to be in his space anymore than he had to.  “Any chance you’re gonna become _un_ -busy anytime soon?”

Another voice chimed in, belonging to Chet-- the smarmy midfielder who was always leaving his position open-- as he leaned against Adam’s shoulder, eyes keen on Dean.  “Seriously, bro.  You’ve been gone, for what?  A month now?  Games are gonna start soon, and you’re gonna be shit outta shape.  Talk about a lot of bench time.”

“Somebody’s gotta keep it warm,” their goalie, Jake, a tall Senior who was always missing practices for JROTC, jibed playfully.  Dean shot him a faint grin; Jake wasn’t half bad of a guy when he wasn’t on an ego trip or pissed off.  “And Dean-o, here, can do whatever he puts his mind to.  Remember that kick-ass play he did on JV last season?  Head-butted it right into the goal, the spry little bastard.  Ain’t that right, Dean?”

“It was just luck--”

“Spry, or not,” Adam cut him off, a smug little smirk curling on his lips, and Dean felt himself bristle.  “He’s still gonna be benched if he doesn’t watch himself.”

Chet snorted, leering at Dean from the shoulder he was lazing on.  “Well, he’s got the ass for it.  Got the ass for anything, honestly.”  


“God _damn_ , Chet.  Would you shut your ass up?”  Jake snapped at him, a look of disgust flitting over his face.  “I don’t wanna be thinking about you checkin’ us all out in the locker rooms, man.”

“Not all of you,” he snickered, guffawing slightly when Jake gave him a sharp shove that left him stumbling for a moment.

Adam rolled his eyes, shaking his head and giving Dean a look that he knew was meant to be companionable but came off as condescending.  “So are you coming to practice, or not?”

Shame welled up in him.  Because, despite the fact that he missed the field and the game and a few of his teammates, he _couldn’t_ play.  He wasn’t allowed.  No practice, no games.  Not until he got his grades up-- though, they were well on their way-- and no longer needed a tutor.  Schooling his features, he shrugged nonchalantly, but his grip was tight on the strap of his backpack.

“Sorry.  No can do.  Not today.”

Adam scoffed, crossing his arms, and it was like he’d just noticed the upperclassman who’d been standing by Dean the entire time, eyes flickering to Castiel briefly with disdain before landing back on Dean.  “What, you’ve got more _important_ plans?  ‘Cause if you’re gonna get high, I’ve got what you need, man.”

The derision in his tone made Dean was to simultaneously throw up and punch him in the face.  Brow furrowing, he took another step back, and slightly to the side as he drew closer to Castiel.  It was ridiculous, the judgement Adam held in his gaze as he glanced over at Cas, and it made Dean’s skin crawl.  How could someone be so prejudiced?  Especially when they were the ones offering up drugs for him to take.  Jaw clenching briefly, he grinned at Adam bitterly, and swallowed down the touch of fury that had began burning in him. 

“Actually, yeah.”  He bit out, noting the appraising look Jake shot Castiel’s way, and finding a little bit of relief when he spotted the acceptance there that was quickly obliterated by the sneer on Chet’s lips.  “Gotta watch my brother, and Cas and I are watching some movies tonight.”  Tense, he reached for Castiel’s wrist and gave a subtle tug, as if urging him to move; he knew what it sounded like, what it no doubt looked like, but he just wanted to get out of there.  “Which we’re running late for.  So we should get going.”

“You should mind your tone.”  Castiel said, voice cold and unfearing, not liking the way Adam stared, judgmental, and scathing even.  He may not have been popular like they were, but he knew how to be feared, knew when somebody was pushing a little too far, jabbing at the gaps in Dean’s armour; he could feel the way Dean tensed up, the way he tried to pull back.  The urge to protect welled up in him again, the usual care he took to keep himself safe forgotten in favour of Dean’s.  Pulling his hand from Dean’s, Cas straightened out to stand taller than the majority of the people before him, every inch of his posture tensed, as though expecting them to launch at him.

Adam flicked his attentions to Castiel the second he spoke, almost disbelieving as they sized each other up, neither making any move against the other, though they never wavered, a tense distance between them. “And _you_ should mind your own business.  Maybe keep your creepy ass out of my friend’s life.  Because if I had a little brother?  I sure as hell wouldn’t want a guy like you hanging around him.” He retorted, cold and scathing as they squared off.

The faint sting that came with Adam’s words was quickly masked, detectible only to someone who knew him well enough to spot his discomfort. Cas' hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks to keep from lashing out, not wanting to cause a scene. Not now, not here, it would ruin what should be a good evening.

A snarl settled onto Castiel’s lips, radiating a certain power, the kind that was rarely seen in someone his age.

“This is my business.”  He said, voice dropping to a deadly quiet.  “And frankly, I don’t think you want that to be the case, so why don’t you take your show troupe of hairless apes, and fuck off.”

“What did you just say to me, you prick--?”

“ _Adam_ ,” Jake cut him off, hand on his shoulder to pull him back, or hold him still if he tried to do anything.  “Come on, man, lay off.  Dean’s busy, and there’s no reason we shouldn’t respect that.  If he’s hanging out with Novak, that’s his choice.”

Dean felt his gut clench, anxiety clawing at his insides as he saw the beginnings of a fight, and instantly felt the need to defuse it, grateful that Jake had the same idea.  Nodding at him, he flashed an apologetic smile, and Jake returned it as he tugged Adam back a step with superior strength.  Adam seemed to be cooling down a bit, hackles still raised, but temper ebbing off bit by bit.  Shrugging out of Jake’s grip, he kept his glare on Castiel for a moment longer before it dropped to Dean.

“When you’re done _slumming it_ , you’ve got a team that could use you, Winchester.”  He said snidely, and Dean could only focus on the rigidity of Castiel’s shoulders as he hesitantly reached out to grip his wrist again-- to hopefully ground him, and keep him from swinging it and starting something they’d all regret.

He winced as Adam brushed by, shoulders colliding a touch too harshly, and he let out a sharp sigh as they trailed off together, leaving Dean with Castiel once more, a few sets of eyes burning into them curiously.  “Let’s get out of here?”

The hand curled around his wrist was the only thing that stopped Castiel from breaking his nose, almost disappointed he couldn’t.  He watched him go, none of the tension dropping until Adam was gone, relaxing enough to turn back to Dean, nodding sharply as he rolled his shoulder and started to walk away.  “Is he always that much of a dick, or is this a special occasion?”

Barking out a faint laugh, Dean kept stride with him, fingers still clasped loosely just above Castiel’s hand.  “There’s nothing special about it.  Adam thinks he’s God’s gift to the team, and he likes to keep all of his ducks in a row.  He happens to think I’m one of his ducks.”

Cas didn’t even notice the hand still attached to his wrist until they’d exited the school building, finding something oddly calming about the gesture, deciding to play stupid until Dean noticed as well.  “Maybe next time I’ll have to take him down a few pegs then.  I think he’d look good with a black eye.”  He said, oddly enthused by the idea of violence.

“You’re kind of awesome, you know that?”  Dean chuckled, giving him a bemused look as they walked across the parking lot, only releasing his hold on him once they’d reached the car and felt that familiar heat creep up the back of his neck, though he played it off casually.

Castiel shrugged, almost protesting the loss of a warm hand curled around his wrist.  “I do now.”  He said, a smile just barely flitting over his lips, the usual banter between them calming him down.  Climbing into the passenger's side with a growing familiarity, he rubbed at his wrist absently, trying to replace the feeling of Dean’s hand.

 


	6. Before the Night Is Through (I Wanna Do Bad Things With You)

 

Dean had been worried, at first, that maybe Sam wouldn’t like Castiel.  He wasn’t sure why, exactly, he was so worried.  For some reason, it had been important.  That Sam liked Castiel.  That Sam approved of him-- both as a tutor and as a friend.  It had been stupid of him to stress over it because his brother had taken to the older teen instantly, asking him question after question about everything.   


Dean would have to remember to apologize for the third degree later.

As the evening went on, things seemed to go smoothly.  Sam was happy to have burgers, and even more enthusiastic about the candy Dean had brought him.  He’d managed to sneak an entire pack of gummy bears upstairs to his room after he found out they would be monopolizing the television for the remainder of the night.  He left Dean and Castiel alone in the kitchen as Dean cleaned up, wanting to get it out of the way before he settled down for the night.

“Do you want popcorn now,” Dean asked over his shoulder, hands buried in soapy water.  “Or are you still full from dinner?”

A pleased, and oddly contented smile settled on Castiel’s lips, belly full of the best meal he’d had in far too long.  Despite his original nerves, he’d gotten along just fine with Sam, patiently answering all of his questions-- _yes, the bar of metal in his ear did hurt,_ and _no, he did not break into the bank two states over, that was his brothe_ r.  He leaned against the kitchen bench, passing Dean dirty dishes in some strange production line, as he waited for his reply.

“Later, I guess.  Unless you want some.”  He said easily, finding Dean’s home to be almost more inviting than his own, familiar almost.

“Nah, I’m good.”  Dean replied, rinsing off a plate before he moved it to the drying rack and then held out his hand for the next dish.  “We have plenty of movies to get through, so we should probably make the snack-age last for as long as we can.”

Passing a pan across, Castiel nodded, knowing it was going to be a long night of many movies.  Though he was a little worried about the size of the couch because, frankly, being that close to Dean did strange things to his heart rate.

“Agreed.” He said, passing across the next dish.

“And, hey,” he paused, suds slipping down his forearms and dripping on the edge of the counter as he looked over at him.  “Whenever you want to go home or whatever, I can take you.  No big.”

The smile on his face slipped a little at the thought of going home, far too comfortable here for his apartment to ever compete.  “Yeah.  Sure.”  He said, a little uncertain.  “Though I warn you, now I know where you live, you’ll never get rid of me.”  He added, trying to disguise the slip in his tone.

“Stalk much?”  Dean teased, finishing off rinsing the last of the dishes before he set them all on the rack and then dried his hands on a towel that hung off the handle of the oven.  “You’re not gonna turn into a peeping tom, are you?  Because I _will_ get a restraining order-- you know, in twenty years, when I can afford a lawyer.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get used to me in twenty years.”  Cas returned, not thinking about the implication of his words until too late, freezing up for a moment as he process what he’d just said.  “Uh...  You know what I mean.”  He added hastily.

Regarding him for a moment, Dean smiled lopsidedly and decided to let a prime opportunity to taunt him pass as he moved over to the fridge to grab them both something to drink.  “I’m actually surprised you’re planning on sticking around that long.  I’m pretty boring-- you sure you wanna make that kind of commitment?”

Composing himself with a long breath, Castiel watched him move, a little too distracted by the flex of his arms.  “You’d be surprised what I’ll commit too,” he said, “and I don’t think you’d be _that_ boring.”

“Right.  Because I am, oh, so very exciting to be around.” Dean hummed, tone dry, as he pulled his head back out of the fridge to look over at him.  “Rootbeer?”

Nodding, Castiel met his gaze easily, something strangely intense as he watched him.  “I think you’re interesting.”  He said quietly, looking away at his admission.

Dean paused, flush burning at his cheeks as he stared at him for a long, almost awkward moment.  Muttering a soft “thank you,” he buried back into the refrigerator, only emerging again when he had two frosty bottles in hand and he’d willed his blush away.  Kicking the door shut behind him, he moved over to where he was leaning against the counter, placing the edge of the bottle cap there before he snapped it off with a fluid motion that spoke of practice.  Holding Castiel’s out for him to take, he offered up a small but genuine smile.

“I think you’re pretty interesting, too.”

Meeting his gaze evenly, Castiel smiled a little at the flush on his face, finding his little murmur nothing short of adorable.  Snapping the top off his bottle on the edge of the dish rack, his smile only widened, nose crinkling a little, heart beat rising as Dean smiled at him.  After an awkward silence, he started a little.  “I uh.  Guess we ought to start then?”

“Right,” he took a step back, almost timidly, and turned so that he could lead the way back into the living room.  “What do you want to watch first?  We’ve got, like, a massive amount of choices.”

They hadn’t been able to decide on a movie at the rental place, bantering over different titles from between aisles.  They’d ended up with about six of them, most of the selections older, and then a few new releases that neither of them had seen yet, but were extremely enthusiastic about ripping them apart and shouting at the screen in outrage at all of the physical impossibilities and inaccuracies.  Dean supposed it just meant they were in for a long night; something he was perfectly fine with.

Privately, he was sort of hoping Castiel would stay the entire night and into the morning so that he could make them all breakfast.

“I’m craving _Pulp Fiction_.”  Castiel replied, rolling his shoulders as he regained his control, trying not to focus on the way Dean flushed and backed away, bashful in all the best ways.  Shifting from foot to foot, he pushed off the counter, making his way into the living room with surprising ease for someone who’d never been there before.

“I always love a good Sammy J when settling in for the night,” he grinned wryly, plopping unceremoniously onto the couch.  “No objections here.  Especially since I already put it in.”

Reaching forward, he snatched up the remote and turned the TV on.  It flickered to life, and he quickly changed the station over to reveal the DVDs main menu.  Giving Castiel a smug little smile, happy to have his own first choice match Castiel’s, and he slumped back before patting the cushion next to him. 

“Come on,” he cajoled, tone bemused considering they only had the one couch.  “Take a seat, any seat.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel moved to sit next to him, a little stiffer than he might considering the proximity between them, no longer comfortable to lean in closer to him lest he do something stupid.

“I think all the others are taken.”  He said flatly, falling back on tease to hide some of his growing awkwardness.

“Oh, are they?”  Dean asked glibly, nudging at his foot with his own, suppressing a smile when he caught the sight of the way his guest’s socked foot seemed to twitch alongside his bare one.  “I hadn’t noticed.”

Huffing out a soft laugh, Castiel shifted a little as their thighs brushed, swallowing thickly to keep his mind from wandering too far onto the topic of those wonderful legs.  “Don’t you think that’s a little unobservant?”

“Maybe a little,” he admittedly, pressing the select button, and setting the remote aside once the opening scene began playing out across the screen.  A flare of heat skittered through him at the gentle connection between them, feeling the warmth of Castiel’s leg hovering just next to his.  “I never said I was observant.”

Taking a moment to admire Dean’s features, he had to shake his focus back, turning to watch the film.  As the movie started Cas began to relax, having something other than Dean’s legs to focus on.  A small, but overly fond smile curled his lips, the flaring and subsiding colours of the television lighting up his face.  Films always had been one of his favorite things, stories so unlike his own, other worlds and new people to explore.

Idly, Dean nursed his bottle, letting it rest against his knee when he wasn’t drinking.  Soon, he was engrossed in the story, though he kept making little comments about the filming, the story, and the acting.  Things he admired, things he didn’t like, and everything in between. 

About halfway through, Dean shifted, and relaxed more fully in his seat.  Humming under his breath, his legs spread a bit more, and he rolled his head to release some of the tension that had settled in him since he’d stopped playing sports.

“You want anything?”  He asked, voice hushed as he leaned close, like they were in a theater and he needed to worry about disturbing other patrons.  “I’m getting kinda munchy.”

Castiel all but ignored his drink, engrossed in the film save for the few comments he shared with Dean, finally turning to look at him as he felt breath against his cheek, suddenly way too close.  “Uh...  Yeah.  Sure.  Food.”  He mumbled, absent as he found himself distracted by the curve of Dean’s lips, and the smatter of freckles over his nose.

“Popcorn and chocolate covered raisins?”

Blinking rapidly, he nodded, trying to make it as subtle as possible to avoid smacking against his forehead.  “Sure.”

“You want anything else?”  He asked, brows lifting curiously.

“We have a lot to get through, it’d be a shame to run out.”  He replied, pulling back to get some space between them.

Standing up, he offered up a lopsided grin as he moved out of the room.  “Good idea.  Just popcorn and chocolate covered raisins for now then.”  Hovering in the doorway, he glanced back at him.  “Don’t bother pausing, I’ve seen it a million and five times.”

The remote had already been plucked off the couch arm when Dean spoke, and Castiel stopped as he was about to pause the film, looking over at him.  “So have I.”  He admitted, still a little reluctant to let up information despite their growing closeness.

“Then what are we doing paying such close attention to it?”  He laughed, calling out from the kitchen.  “We should be doing something more useful than wasting all of our time watching the same things over and over-- or so I’m told by many professional adults.”

“We are reevaluating the resonating themes of a cinema classic.”  Cas returned, the smile on his face ruining any seriousness of his statement, purposefully ignoring his question.

Chuckling, he shook his head, popping the bag of popcorn into the microwave as he leaned against the counter to wait.  “I should have you come up with the thesis for my next paper if you’re going with that off the fly.”

“How do you think I pass English.”  He snorted, twisting to see him better as he leant against the counter in an oddly flexible manner for someone who didn’t actively do any kind of sport.

“Probably because you like it,” Dean muttered, drumming his fingers against the top of the microwave impatiently, cocking a hip out as he put all of his weight onto one foot.  He hummed to himself, some little Beatles’ tune, his toes wiggling against the linoleum tiles.

“Well yeah, that too.”  Cas mumbled, watching as Dean tapped a foot against the floor, listening curiously as he hummed, trying to place the unfamiliar tune.  After a few bars, he spoke up.  “What song is that?”

Glancing over sharply, he cut himself off with a soft sound, blush climbing up his neck and over his face.  “Uh... _Hey Jude_.  Didn’t know you were listening.”

“I’m always listening.”  Cas said simply, only realising how creepy it was after he’d spoken.

“Well, that’s--”  Dean huffed out a nervous chuckle.  “That’s good to know.  I’ll make sure I never sing around you.  It’s terribly off key.” 

Swallowing thickly, he turned his attention back to the microwave, scrambling slightly when the alarm went off.  Popping the door open, he reached in and grabbed the edges of the bag, hissing as he ripped the top of it to let out steam.  Turning back around, he elbowed the door shut, and then snagged a couple of boxes of Raisinettes off of the counter.  Strolling back into the living room, he sat down on the couch, offering up some popcorn to Castiel-- stalling briefly when he realized just how closely they were sitting.

“It’s bound to be better than mine.”  He assured, shifting to allow Dean space to sit, pressed up against each other on a slightly too small couch.  Snagging a handful of popcorn, he threw one in the air and caught it with a snap of teeth, refocusing on the movie.

Slightly tense, but not uncomfortable, Dean settled back in.  His hand dove into the bag, pulling out a handful of kernels before he ate them one by one.  It didn’t take him long to relax once more, easing into the cushions and trying his best to ignore the constant flare of awareness he felt while pressed along Castiel’s side.  Letting out a long breath, Cas relaxed into the couch, managing to ignore the press of their bodies with the kind of focus born of hours of practise.  Leaning his elbows on his knees, his spine curved forward to support his body, Castiel tilted his head minutely as yet another person was slaughtered, expected violence from a favorite film.

With the way he was folded forward, Dean could look at him without fear of being caught.  Eyes flickering over the length of him, he couldn’t help but admire the perfect mess of his hair, the way his shirt clung to him just right, the toned muscle he hid under a leather jacket every day.  Gaze raking up his spine, he came to a stuttering halt on the hints of black that peaked out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

“Holy shit.”

Turning around to him, Castiel raised an eyebrow in question as he found himself looking at an obvious stare.  “Problem?”  He asked, following the line of Dean’s stare to the flicks of black ink peaking out from his shirt.

“You have a tattoo.”  Dean stated dumbly, fingers itching to reach out and touch.  “You have a tattoo?”

“Yes.  I have a tattoo.  I also have a nose and two eyes.”  He deadpanned, raising his eyebrows for a second as he straightened out.  “I have several, actually.”

“Several?”  He gawked, eyes flooding up to meet his gaze, unbridled interest evident in his gaze.  “Can I-- I mean, can I see them?”

Pausing for a moment, he contemplated his request, noting the interest in Dean’s eyes, unable to turn him away.  He lifted the back of his shirt, tattooed wings that curved out onto his upper arms revealed, individual feathers lined in black from the middle of his spine outwards, span flaring as his arms moved in surprisingly intricate detail.

“This is the most recent.  Other one is a few years old.”

“Fuck, that’s wicked,” he breathed, setting the bag of popcorn onto the coffee table so that he could inch closer.  “Why wings?”  Before he could stop himself, he was reaching out, fingers brushing over inked skin.  He traced the patterns idly, just barely touching, the ghost of sensation.  They were beautiful and so well done, shifting with the muscle under his skin when he rolled his shoulders.  Dean felt like he could trace each individual feather, and that they all would be different in some way.

He shivered as fingertips traced over the lines inked into his back, muscle twitching under his hands, a faint flush burning the tips of his ears.  He swallowed thickly, debating revealing his reasoning for a moment, looking over his shoulder.  “My mother gave all of us Angel names...  I thought it would be fitting.”  He explained.

Dean’s expression turned solemn, though there was still the barest hint of awe in his eyes as he let his palm rest of the expanse of art littering Castiel’s back.  “...Do you remember her?  Your mom?”

Castiel shook his head, trying to ignore the hand at his back.  “Not really.”  He said, contemplating his next words carefully.  “Sometimes I think I might.  The little things that strike a memory, but it could have been my brothers...  I don’t really know.”

“Yeah, I get that.”  His gaze flickered up, meeting his in understanding.  “Sam’s a bit like that.  He’ll uh-- He’ll tell stories of things that happened between him and mom, and... Well, they were things I told him happened between her and me.  I think he just _wants_ memories of her.”

He hated thinking it, but he thought maybe Castiel had it better off.  Better to not have anything to miss her for, instead of all the things in Dean’s head-- little things, things that kept him up some nights.  Like the way he could never get his clothes to smell like she could when she washed them.  Like the way she used to sing him to sleep.  Like the notes she would leave in his lunches.  He was full of her memories; the house was full of her, and it always would be.  He thought maybe it was better in ignorant bliss.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed along the top ridge of one of the delicate looking wings, eyes drawn to the intricate picture once more as a sad smile played on his lips.  “She used to say that Angels were watching over me.”

Almost hyper aware of the hand still resting at the middle of his back, Cas met his gaze evenly, a frown tugging his lips as Dean spoke, knowing the feeling all too well.  “At least she didn’t ask you to be her Angels.”  He mumbled, recalling the few stories he’d been told about his mother.  “That’s what she called us....  They never told me why, but she’d call all of us her Angels.”

“Kind of ironic then, huh?”  Dean grinned wryly, but there was still something vital and warm missing from his gaze as his fingers trailed down to the lowest point of Castiel’s wing.  “You being an Angel and being my tutor.”

The void left in Dean's expression was a little off putting as Castiel looked up at him, spine arching ever so slightly into his hand, craving the warmth it provided, the strange intimacy that came with their closeness.  Swallowing, he offered a half grin, lips twitching in bitter amusement.  "Raised you from the perils of bad grades."

Dean laughed, shoulders shaking with his mirth for a moment, and he gave him a strangely affectionate look.  "Yeah, I suppose that's true, isn't it?  From the depths of the layer of Hell reserved for slackers like me."

“At least you got out.”  He returned, matching his smile, feeling the way Dean’s shoulder shook. Swallowing, a slightly awkward silence fell over them, neither willing to break it though even Cas knew they’d lingered a little too long; generally, friends didn’t blatantly touch each other like that for prolonged periods of time.  Clearing his throat, he shifted away, pulling his shirt back down as he settled back down only to find the end credits rolling.

Pulling his hand back to himself, Dean couldn’t ignore the way it tingled, or the way he missed the heat of his skin the second it was gone.  He had to suppress another blush, clasping his hands together in his lap for a moment as they sat there.  He could only imagine how Castiel felt, how awkward it must have been to have Dean’s hand all over his back, embarrassed by his own forwardness.  Jaw flexing, he reached for the remote, moving to stop the DVD so that they could put in the next one.

“I’ve thought of getting a tattoo,” he said, trying to ease the tension that had settled between them as he slid from the couch to move across the room and kneel in front of the TV so that he could take the disc out and replace it in its case. 

Sighing softly, Cas shifted in his seat, watching the way Dean flushed, obviously uncomfortable.  Perhaps showing him wasn’t such a good idea after all.  Swallowing again, he watched as he replaced the DVD, concentrating on the question in effort to reduce the awkward silence.  “Yeah...  What of?”

“I uh... I honestly have no idea,” he chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair as he looked back over at him, holding up two more movies-- _Casablanca_ and _Princess Bride_ \-- for Castiel to pick between.  “Probably one of the reasons I haven’t gotten one.  I mean, I kind of want it to mean something, but I’m not sure what I would want permanently on my skin, you know?  Or _where_.”

“They don’t have to have some deep meaning...  But I guess it makes it easier to keep.  Where’s the question you have to worry about.  Some places hurt more than others.”  He said, shrugging a little, less out of indifference, and more trying to alleviate the blanket of tension around them.  Hesitating for a moment, he regarded the films apparently for his choosing, looking a little embarrassed as he pointed to _The Princess Bride_.

“As you wish,” Dean grinned, giving a faint bow before he turned to plop the movie into the player, standing in a swift and easy movement while the film loaded, and moving back to sit next to him on the couch.  “Where would you suggest then?  For a first time.”

Flushing a little, Cas shifted in attempt to put some space between them, not wanting to make Dean anymore uncomfortable than he had.  “Not your back.”  He said, a half grin on his face.  “Really depends, more flesh, less pain.  Bony places hurt the most.”

“So I guess something on my hip is out of the question,” he said, half-serious, though his tone quickly turned sarcastic.  “Same with that Tramp Stamp I had been so hoping on getting.”  Tilting his head, he regarded him steadily for a moment, before his brows drew together inquisitively.  “Where do _you_ think I should get one?”

Laughing quietly, Castiel met his gaze for a brief moment, holding it for as long as he dared.  “It depends on a lot of factors.  Size of the tattoo, design...  I mean, it’d look a bit strange if I got wings tattooed on my legs.  If you want to cover it, how well you handle pain.”  He said, expression quirking into an amused smirk.  “Though I think a Tramp Stamp would look just fine on you....  Got the ass for it.”

“Been checking out my ass, have you?”  He grinned, slightly crooked and completely charming -- it was the same expression he’d used to earn tips whenever he’d have to work at Ellen’s-- all dark and inviting.  Inching just a little closer, his smile broadened a bit, enjoying these stupid games they seemed to play with one another.  The tension that seemed to be there, always just under the surface. 

“Who hasn’t?” He retorted, raising an eyebrow at him, masking the little flop his stomach did when Dean grinned. “You’re the type to attract attention.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I attracted your attention?”  He asked playfully, giving him and obnoxiously fake coy glance, head tilting in curiosity.  “Or at least that my ass did?”

"It's a notable addition to an already entertaining physique."  Castiel said, carefully wording his reply, aware that he was bordering dangerously close to truth as opposed to their usual banter.

“Entertaining, huh?  In what way?”  He let his arms drape along the top edge and the armrest of the couch, stretching just right to let his shirt ride up, revealing a strip of tanned skin.  “And exactly what other parts of my _physique_ attracted your attention?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply only to close it was an abrupt click of teeth, deciding that ‘all of it’ wasn’t a very good answer. Swallowing thickly, he mumbled incoherently for a moment, eyes drawn to the strip of skin revealed, willing his heart rate to slow the fuck down.

“It’s uh...  Very interesting.”  He mumbled, shifting awkwardly in his seat, all confidence lost.  Internally, he was rattling off the ever growing list of Dean’s physical traits, from the stupid grin he sometimes wore to the curve of his spine, each as tantalising as the next, debating which was safe to mention without sounding too creepy.  “What...  Uh, just my attentions specifically, because people say things all the time...  Girl in my English class rants about your eyes frequently, so I suppose people notice them...  They’re nice though. I guess.”

Dean tried to bite back the flush that spread over his cheeks, but he couldn’t, and he looked down for a moment despite the grin still playing on his face.  “You’re attracted to my eyes?”

For a moment Cas forgot how to breath, fiddling restlessly with the hem of his shirt, the appearance he tried so hard to keep up falling apart around him over a simple question.  “I never said that.”  He said abruptly, almost defensive, a flush burning his cheeks.  It wasn’t as though he could blatantly say, “No, I’m attracted to your everything.”  Friends did not say that to other friends.

“Right,” he nodded, feeling a sudden drop in his stomach at his words; he hadn’t even realized he’d been hoping Castiel would say yes until he didn’t.  “It’s just one of those interesting attributes of mine.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”  He replied, shifting away from him in effort to avoid saying anything stupid. Refocusing half hearted attention on the movie, he let out a soft sigh.  Of all the people he could have chosen to be friends with, why did it have to be the stupidly attractive one.

Plucking the bag of popcorn back up, Dean rested it between them, his own attention turning to the TV.  Except he wasn’t watching it at all, too busy focusing on the strange sensation of disappointment that had settled in him.  He wanted nothing more than to press back along his side, relax back into the cushions, and pretend that Castiel was attracted to his eyes.  To the rest of him.  It was a wrenching feeling that he hadn’t known he had in him, and it almost made him want to squirm.

“Do you need a new soda or anything?”

Resting a hand against his own knee, Castiel had to squeeze periodically to keep his thoughts from slipping into unwanted territory, fruitless as it was with Dean so close.  Shaking his head a little, he shifted again, trying to forget the warm press of their legs, and the rough pad of Dean’s thumb, and the way a flush creeped up his neck.  Jerking to face him, he stalled for a moment, looking down at his finished bottle and nodding slowly.

“Uh.  Yeah, sure.”

He slid to his feet and moved to take Castiel’s bottle, planning on replacing it, when he lost his footing against the edge of the couch.  His arm shot out to catch himself on the back of it, glass clinking as it clattered against the floor, and his breath stuck in his throat as he found himself leaning over Castiel.  Freezing, he met his gaze with wide eyes, taking in the blue of them-- so intense that he thought he might lose himself in them-- and feeling heat creep across his face as a blush blossomed over his cheeks, lips parting with his faint gasp.

Cas froze up, momentarily forgetting the English language as he found himself with a face full of Dean Winchester.  Swallowing thickly, he met his gaze for a moment, breath stalling in his throat, a bright flush on his cheeks as he picked up the bottle and handed it back, hoping to avoid getting any closer.

Caught there, Dean hesitated, voice soft when he spoke.  “You’re eyes are nice too...  I guess.”

Babbling something that sounded foreign, Castiel gaped at him for a moment, unable to look away, heart pounding in his chest.  Swallowing thickly, he let his gaze wander a little, tracking across the line of his jaw, the peak of his cupid’s bow, breath stalling in his throat.  They were so close he could feel warm breath on his lips, it wouldn’t even take effort to lean just that little bit further; he had to grip at the couch cushion to keep from giving in and ruining the only friendship he’d ever had.

Dean seemed to sway forward just a bit, body willing to do what neither of them could, when Sam’s shout from upstairs startled the both of them. 

“Can you pop me some popcorn, Dean?”

Muscles sprung into action as he pushed off from where he’d been holding himself up, standing before Castiel, undoubtedly flustered as he stepped back; he bumped into the coffee table, jostling it slightly, and cursed under his breath at the way his legs seemed to keep shaking.  “Pop it your own goddamn self, Sammy!  You’re not crippled.”

“Neither are you--”

“Besides, don’t you have an entire bag of candy up there?  You don’t need any more food.”

His lips quirked up in amusement when he heard Sam’s annoyed huff, and he gave Castiel one of those ‘kids, what can you do?’ looks as he shrugged, trying his best to get them back to comfortable, sturdy ground. 

“What happened to me being a growing boy and needing all I can eat?”

“If you want it, you have to get it yourself.”  Dean replied, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his jeans, finding his palms clammy from the way his nerves were buzzing.  “Growing boys also need to stay active.”

“ _Nevermind_ ,” he groused and there was the slam of a door shutting, and Dean winced as he finally willed himself to move again.

“Soda, right?”

Cas let out a sigh of relief as Dean stepped away, letting up the pressure on the couch, temptation avoided.  Panting a little, he nodded dumbly to Dean’s question, licking his lips in effort to return some kind of moisture to a suddenly parched mouth.

When Dean returned from the kitchen, he felt like he was walking on pins and needles.  His body seemed to thrum with some kind of unfulfilled anticipation, and he settled back onto the couch, holding Castiel’s bottle out for him as they both pressed to opposite sides.  He let his focus return to the television set, finding Princess Buttercup already having been kidnapped, and the Dread Pirate Roberts scaling The Cliffs of Insanity as Inigo awaited him at the top. 

It took him a long moment to relax again, pressing his own drink to his temple, the icy cold of it calming the sudden turmoil within him.  Dean laughed as Roberts-- who was so obviously Wesley it was ridiculous-- quipped with Inigo, and he glanced over at Castiel with bemusement in his gaze.  Hesitating only for a second, he nudged at the other boy’s leg with his own, gesturing to the screen with his chin.

“Have you ever read the book?”

Returning to the film was harder than Cas expected, shifting periodically in attempt to reduce the tension that had taken hold of his back.  Breathing and heart rate evening out to a steady rate, he started as Dean nudged his leg, turning sharply to him.  “No...  I wasn’t aware there was one.”

Dean nearly swallowed his own tongue, shifting to simultaneously face him and the TV.  “Cas, are you fucking serious?  It’s hilarious, you _have_ to read it, oh my god.”

Nodding, a smile curled his lips, albeit a shaky one.  “I’ll put it on my list.”

“I have it,” he supplied, almost awkwardly, smiling back.  “If you want to borrow it.  I own it.  It was my mom’s-- I kept all of her books.  You can borrow it.”

The smile on his face dropped abruptly at the offer, oddly touched by the sentiment behind it.  “I’ll return it within the week.”  He promised, tone solem.

“It’s okay.  You can-- I mean, there’s no rush.  I’ve read it a million times.”  He laughed faintly, and there was a pang in his chest that he stubbornly ignored.  “Take your time with it; it’s really not a big deal.”

A furrow appeared between his brows, regarding him evenly for a long moment.  “I’ll take care of it.”  He assured, vowing not to let any harm come to a book that obviously held some sentimental value.

“I know.”

Dean flashed him a smile, completely confident in Castiel’s ability to keep one of his keepsakes undamaged.  Turning back to the film, he chuckled softly, recalling the brilliantly written text and comparing it alongside the film, both just as good as the other.  Content that things had lulled back into normalcy, he let out a soft hum, lifting his drink to his lips and nursing it for a moment as they sat there.

Nodding slowly, Cas sipped idly at his drink, returning to the film, a soft smile on his face, knowing the worst of their little run in had been avoided, though he could help but flush recalling it.  He was quite sure that this was not what having a friend felt like.

* * *

 

Sam’s hair was an absolute mess when he woke up on Saturday morning.  He came crawling out of bed at nearly noon, and he expected to find the smell of pancakes, or bacon, or hopefully both.  Unfortunately, all he found was the television playing a loop of _One Who Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ menu screen, and his brother curled up on the couch with Castiel, wrappers scattered and littered around the living room.

Yawning, he blinked tiredly, and then gave a rueful smile as his older brother snored softly, body slumped against the other man’s.  If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say that they had had a successful first date.  Padding from the room, he made his way into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door, snagging an apple to bide his appetite until the idiots in the other room decided to wake up.

Faint music and invading light had Castiel stirring from a surprisingly comfortable sleep, nose crinkling as he tried to hide his face away from the light in what he thought was a borrowed pillow.  Huffing softly, he shifted, eyes snapping open as he felt a leg twitch next to his, reeling back as he noticed the heart beat under his ear, an arm draped haphazardly over his shoulder.  Sitting up, a little distressed, he looked over at his previous bedding -- read: Dean’s torso -- and swallowed thickly, unable to deny the warm feeling that had settled into his gut, almost missing the warmth of his body.

He turned sharply, alerted to the sound of the fridge opening, only to realise it was only Sam, relaxing again.  Getting off the couch as carefully as he could, he stretched out, spine curving as bones popped and crackled, rolling his shoulders as he yawned softly.

Groaning in his sleep, well-rested and content, Dean stretched over the new expanse offered to him on the couch, snuffling softly.  Letting out a small hum, he blinked his eyes open slowly, breathing in deep-- completely relaxed in his woken bliss.  His gaze tracked over Castiel, admiring as he watched his body elongate, and then he realized just what he was doing and started faintly as he sat up straighter on the couch.

“Jesus, what time is it?”

His breathing caught when Dean spoke, turning to face him, finding the way his hair stuck up endearing though he knew his probably looked no better.  Flexing his hands, Castiel looked at the digital readout on the DVD player, eyes widening as he noticed the time.  “Eleven forty.”  He replied, scratching the back of his head as the fog of sleep began to fade.

Scrambling, Dean wrestled his way off of the couch, limbs still heavy from slumber as he managed to find his way to his feet.  “Sam?!”

“In here!”  His brother poked his head out into the kitchen entry, brow raising at Dean in silent judgement.  “How late did you stay up last night?”

Glancing Castiel’s way, he gave his guest a searching look, not really sure when either of them had fallen asleep.  “Late.”

“Well obviously,” Sam rolled his eyes, huffing softly.  “Are you gonna make brunch?”

“Uh, yeah,” he swallowed, voice slightly raspy, body still waking as he brushed by Castiel; normally, all of the physical contact would have made him uncomfortable, but there was something that warmed in him each time they touched that left him irrationally happy.  “What are you craving?”

“French toast,” Sam said immediately.  “With strawberries on top.”

“Demanding today, aren’t we?”

“Stop being a jerk and just make them.  Please?”

“Sure thing, bitch.”  He muttered fondly, ruffling his hair as he joined him in the kitchen, noting Castiel trailing along not far behind him.  “Any special requests Prince Charming?”

Cas watched the interaction with interest, head swiveling as they passed banter, a small smile curling his lips.  Jolting a little as Dean brushed past, unable to shake the warmth that was left in his wake, he was almost embarrassed at how fast he responded to the nickname, turning to him almost immediately.

“Coffee, if you have it.”

“I’ll brew some up,” he smiled, moving over to the ancient looking machine tucked away in the corner of the countertop, tugging it out and getting it ready in easy, familiar movements.  “Sugar or cream with it?”

Cas frowned at the ancient device, a little concerned as to its effectiveness. “Just black.”

“Can I have some?”  Sam chirped as he pulled himself up onto the counter, and Dean smacked him upside the head lightly, but didn’t tell him to get down. 

“No,” he muttered, smiling faintly as it sputtered to life; they’d had this one for years, and if it wasn’t broken, why replace it.  “I don’t need you running around here hyped up on caffeine.”

“But I’m not gonna be around here,” he replied instantly, grinning from ear to ear.  “I’m going to the rollerskating rink with Andy, remember?  His mom is taking us.”

“No coffee.”

“ _Dean_ \--”

“No,” he gave him a dry look, and Sam huffed, biting into his apple petulantly.

Castiel stifled a chuckle, leaning casually against the bench top as he watched their interaction, a little jealous of the how close the brothers were.  “My brother once drank twelve cups of coffee in less than an hour and spent the rest of the day convinced he was the Anti-Christ.  Probably best not to start now.”

Pouting, Sam glared down at his bare feet, toes wiggling slightly.  “Not fair.  You two ganging up on me.  I don’t like him anymore, Dean, get rid of him.”

“Shut up, you dork.”  Dean rolled his eyes, nudging into him as he opened up a cabinet to pull down a bowl.  “For being rude to our guest, you get to beat the eggs.”

Sighing, Sam pushed off of the counter, taking the bowl offered and moving over to the fridge.  “Sorry, Cas.  I like you.  I just don’t like when mom and dad tag team up on me.”

Castiel shrugged off the attempt to evict him with a secretive smile and a soft chuckle, watching the interaction with mild interest.  His brow abruptly furrowed at the jibe, sending a half hearted glare Sam’s way.  “Y’know what happened to the last person that called me a housewife, boy?”  He asked, no real threat to his words.  “I stood a clothes mannequin at the foot of their bed in the middle of the night.  The screams were memorable.”

Sam gaped at him for a moment, fear in his gaze, and he inched back from the older man with a sudden respect and wariness.  “If-- If it makes it any better, I was calling my brother the housewife.  Not you.”

“Hey!”

“You’re the one who does all the mom stuff,” he shrugged, turning back to the fridge.

“Do you want french toast, or not?” He snapped, not really annoyed, but bemused.  “Cooking isn’t ‘mom stuff,’ you brat.”

Nodding his satisfaction, Castiel offered a Sam a faint smile, chuckling softly at Dean’s indignation.  “He’d look better that me in an apron anyway.”  He smirked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he looked at Dean. 

Returning the glance Castiel gave him with a faintly sly one of his own, he fished out a pan from one of the cabinets below, and grinned ruefully.  “You’re damn right I would.”

For a moment, Cas was struck with a wonderful mental image of exactly what that would look like, all toned muscle and scrappy cloth and-- whoa, okay not now.  Casting a less than discreet glance downwards, he shifted awkwardly against the bench.  Stupid hormones.

Moving over to the stove top, Dean grabbed a loaf of bread, pulling out a few pieces as Sam haphazardly started cracking eggs into the bowl he had.  “He only wears the apron when he bakes pie.  It’s tradition.”

“ _Secret_ tradition-- which, hey, I guess not so much anymore, right?”  Dean groused, moving to show his brother how to properly open an egg as he glanced over at Castiel, winking playfully.  “Looks like I’m going to have to kill you like the last one and bury you in the backyard.  Hope you understand.”

The fact that there actually was an apron only made his situation that much worse, eyes bugging for a second as he got a hold of himself, reigning in his wandering imagination before it got downright X-rated.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”  He said, almost absent.  “Besides, I’m much too difficult to kill, be better to leave me be.”

“Is that so?”  Dean quipped, handing Sam a whisk as he moved over to another cabinet, pulling down spices and a tub of sugar as his brother beat the eggs into a mix.  “And some milk to that, Sammy.” 

Cas hummed softly, focusing back on the conversation.  “I think I could stop you if you tried, though if your brother was in on it too, I might have a little difficulty.”

“He is a spry little bastard,” he commented fondly, pushing against Sam’s side, and his brother had the decency to blush.  “Fast learner too.  Top of his class.”

Nodding evenly, he smiled slightly, finding the affection between them endearing.  “Well, at least I won’t have to tutor him too.”

“At least,” he grinned and let Sam excuse himself after he’d gotten his eggs approved from the master chef, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the kitchen as the younger of the two stared after his brother wistfully.  “He’s gonna do something great.”

“So will you.”  Cas said, no tease in his voice, having complete faith in Dean’s ability to achieve in life.

“Yeah.  Right.”  He huffed, turning his attention to the prep he needed to do, not believing for an instant that he was going anywhere but right where he was.  Looking after Sammy until he was old enough to do it himself, until he was old enough to realize that Dean was dead weight.  Until he was left behind in the dust and the dirt, right where he was supposed to be.  “Dean Winchester, next President of the United States.  Unlikely, Cas.”

“Have you seen some of the politicians recently?  Not exactly the brightest crayons in the box.”  Castiel countered, sensing doubt in him.  “You’ll do just fine.  Trust me.”  He said, quieter than he usually might.

“You have far more faith in me than anyone else, Cas.”  He laughed, but it wasn’t amused.  If anything, it was a hollow sounding thing, flat and almost bitter.  “Why is that?”

“Someone has to.”  He said, almost automatically, taken aback by the loyalty that seemed to come from nowhere once he processed what he’d said.

The warmth that tried to well up in him was quickly stamped down as he began soaking pieces of bread in his egg mixture, fishing them out and sprinkling sugar and cinnamon and nutmeg over the tops before he set them in his frying pan on the stove.  “You picked the wrong horse to bet on, man.  Believe me, I’m not your guy.  You should find someone else because, let’s face it, I’m just gonna disappoint you.”

“I don’t gamble.”  Cas said evenly, unwavering faith in Dean despite his beliefs.  “I pursue things that will succeed.  I know you’ll do well, even if you don’t.”  He added, a quiet solemness to his tone.

“Cas,” his voice broke, and he shook his head, pushing the bread around with his spatula as it began cooking through, shoulders slumping forward and inward, as if trying to make himself as small as he felt.  “I really don’t want you to be another person who ends up disenchanted and disappointed with me.  I really don’t.”

Shifting for a moment, Castiel reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, wanting to take away the break of his voice.  “Don’t worry, I won’t be.  Trust me.”

“You don’t-- Cas, you don’t know that.”  He stated, looking over at him, expression sad even as he leaned into the gentle touch.  “You can’t say that because you don’t know that it’s true.”

“But I believe it is.”  He said quietly, half tempted to pull Dean into a hug.

“Blind faith,” Dean huffed, shaking his head, smiling fondly.  “Do you believe in anyone so freely?”

“Not anyone.  They have to earn it first.”  He said, taking his hand away after a brief squeeze.

Dean instantly missed the feeling of warmth through his shirt.  The comfortable feeling of Castiel’s hand on him.  The way it seemed to ground him. 

Curiously, he tilted his head.  “And I’ve earned it?”

Castiel nodded, looking over at him with an unwavering gaze.  “I haven’t ransacked your home yet, have I?”  He said flatly, attempting to lighten the mood a little.

“Oh, my god.”  Dean barked out a laugh; it took him by surprise, and he ended up pressing his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder, one hand loose around his wrist as he laughed until tears threatened to spill from his eyes.  Almost hysteric, but mostly amused and caught off guard by this man who he’d never thought he would allow in his home like this, who he’d never dreamed of opening up to, who had somehow wormed his way under Dean’s skin and into a part of his heart over the last few weeks.  By this man who saw Dean’s insecurities as plain as day, and saw past them.  By this man who knew Dean well enough in the little time they’d been with one another to know when to change the subject. 

“Holy shit,” he chuckled, voice airy with his bemusement.  “You did _not_ just say ransacked.  You are not a pirate, Cas-- unless you were planning on ravaging me at some point, which you have yet to do.”

There was a hand around his wrist again with, bringing that strange warmth with it, and without warning, a head against his shoulder.  It took Castiel a moment to figure out what was so funny, chuckling at an increasing volume, spurred on only by Dean’s laughter.  He’d have to find ways to get Dean laughing more often; it was a beautiful sound.

“What’s wrong with ransacked?”  He asked, head tilting a little in question, almost bird like.  “And ravaging is by no means off the table.”  He added, curiosity quickly shifting to something more lecherous, over exaggerated to the point of tease.

Grinning, he glanced up, fingers tightening briefly, and he felt a flutter rush through him.  “You couldn't ravage me if you tried.”

"Reckon I could."  Cas said, confident in his ability to charm.

“Oh, you reckon?”  He quipped, with an awful twang, turning away so that he could flip his french toast over so it wouldn't burn.  “I dunno, Cas.  I don't think you've got it in you to ravage me.  How would you even go about doing it?”

Leaning back against the bench, Castiel gave a slight shrug, comfortable enough with Dean to speak of his personal affairs.  "Eighty percent of my income depends on my ability to charm.  You have no idea what you're dealing with here."

"Oh, I don't?"  He smiled, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his gaze.  "What am I dealing with then?  Care to give me an example?"

Regarding him evenly, Castiel smirked a little, covering the fears that came with revealing his occupation.  "I can take a man’s wrist watch without him noticing, slip a lady’s necklace right from under her nose and she won't even bat an eyelid.  I know how to play people, and I know how to keep them distracted."

Setting another piece of bread into the pan as he set the cooked one on a plate, Dean turned more fully to Castiel, keenly interested.  "Show me."

Cas cleared his throat a little awkwardly, looking away from him.  "I don't think you'd enjoy my methods."  He said, suddenly nervous.  There was no way he could do that to Dean, not that close.  Not without things getting messy.

"Come on, Cas."  He chuckled, nudging at his foot playfully.  "Show me."

Swallowing thickly, he nodded, moving to stand before him.  This was only a demonstration, just another role to play, no feeling attached, not for Dean.  "Fair warning, I tend to kiss my targets."  He said, a nervous smile on his face as he leant in a little closer.  "I'll need something to take.  A watch, or a wallet. Something on your person."  He added, voice dropping to a low purr, slipping into character.

"Um...  Okay."  Dean's stomach clenched, and he glanced around for a moment, catching sight of where he'd set his wallet on the table the night before.  Taking it, he tucked it away in his back pocket, and then rubbed his palms against the leg of his jeans as he settled back against the counter.  "Have at it."

"Generally, they're a little drunk-- makes things easier for me," Cas told him, running the tips of his fingers along the inside of Dean's wrist, voice hypnotic as he looked up at him with a charming little smirk that spoke of practice.  "And I have to be careful, when I take a target.  More than once I've been punched in the face for getting a little too friendly with the male customers."  He said, trailing a hand over Dean's hip, slow and careful, gauging his reaction in order to make his next move, reading every inch of his body like an open book. 

Tensing briefly, Dean's hands gripped at the edge of the counter as fingers drifted over him in the ghost of a touch.  After a moment, he reminded himself to relax, that it was just a demonstration of sorts, and he felt himself ease into his hand with a soft huff.  The heat bounced between them, and he let his gaze flutter down over him before working back up to meet his gaze.  Grinning wryly, a nervous rush was bit back, and he canted his head ever so slightly.  "I promise not to punch you."

He could feel Dean relax, and he let an open palm run up his rib cage to rest over his left pectoral, caging him in against the bench, lingering close around his lips, letting anticipation rise as he slipped a thigh between his legs.  "That's kind of you."  He purred, looking at him, gaze heated as he leant in that little bit further, brushing their lips together, steadfastly squashing the little thrill his heart gave.  This was only a demonstration after all.

Gasping faintly, his lips parted, and he froze for an instant before he was leaning in that meager amount of space to slant his mouth under Castiel's-- only to be caught up short by Sam's shout from the living room.

"Dean!  Are you burning something?"

"Shit," he hissed out a cursed, pulling from the hands that had been pinning him in so that he could flip the bread over.  It was charred on one side, and he sighed heavily, blush creeping up the back of his neck as he tossed the ruined food into the trash and started a new one. 

Castiel jerked back abruptly, letting Dean go as Sam called, ruining the bubble he'd placed them in.  Once Dean wasn't looking, his shoulders sagged, unable to kill the disappointment welling up inside.  He shouldn't have agreed to that, getting far too close and only aggravating what was already a rapidly growing affection and an already present attraction.  Watching as Dean trashed the burnt food, a faint smirk pulled his lips as practised fingers darted out and slid his wallet from within Dean's back pocket, hoping it might hide the flush on his cheeks.

Dean waited until after he'd soaked a new third piece and got it on the frying pan before he turned his attentions back to Castiel.  Glancing over at him, he offered up a guilty smile, "Sorry about that.  Probably shouldn't have done that in the middle of cooking breakfast.  If you want, you can always try and steal from me later."

Castiel gave a shrug, veiling the yearning that he felt, wanting to keep going without the incentive of stealing a wallet, wanting to be able to kiss him simply because he could.  Tossing the stolen wallet between his hands, he cast a smug look Dean's way.

"Don't worry, I did just fine then."

"How did you--?"  He blinked, an awed smile spreading over his face as he watched him handle his wallet, and he checked his pocket just in case.  "You're just full of all kinds of tricks, aren't you, Cas?  When did you even manage that?"

"When you tossed out the burnt toast."  He replied, holding the wallet out for him to take back.  "Didn't even notice did you?  All it takes is a little distraction, and people just don't notice me taking a wallet, or a watch."

"Or a kiss," he supplied, glancing back down at the stove top, and flipping the bread over in his pan.  There was a spark of something in him.  Something a lot like desperation, and he found himself wishing he'd had enough time to let Castiel distract him back against the edge of the counter; he could still feel the echoes of his hands, warm along his hip and his side and his chest, and the spots tingled faintly with longing.  "So you're a pickpocket.  A really good pickpocket."

"Haven't been caught yet."  He replied, a little proud despite the less than legal topic.  "Jobs are hard to come by.  My brother taught me when I was younger, so I figured why not use the skill."

“It's very impressive,” he replied, smiling over his shoulder at him.  “Can't say it's exactly moral, but I've stolen my share of things when needed.  Question is-- can you put it back without me noticing?'

"Now that you know I've got it, unlikely, but yes.  I always put wallets back after taking a few notes."  He replied, a little ashamed when Dean mentioned the morality of it.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out the perfect time to put it back without me noticing,” he said, _Especially considering how_ distracting _I find you._ Finishing off breakfast with a flourish of sugar, he plated the toast and called briefly for his little brother to join them or miss out. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way.”  Cas told him, stowing the wallet in his pocket for later return.  “It’s a lot easier on drunks.”  He added, a little absent, drumming his fingers nervously against the table top.  “Hey, uh.  Dean.  You won’t tell anyone about that, right?  I mean, people know I steal stuff, but I’d rather not get arrested.”

“You steal stuff?”  Sam asked as he walked in, immediately going for a plate and stuffing his mouth with a bite that was far too big.  Dean rolled his eyes and was tempted to smack him upside the head again.  “Thas kinna cool.  Dean use’a steal sff.”

“Your mouth.  It’s full.  What happened to manners, Sammy?”

The thirteen year old shrugged nonchalantly, swallowing only to stuff another bite into his mouth.

Turning his attention back to Cas, he smiled, handing him his own breakfast as he leaned back against the counter with his plate.  “Of course I won’t say anything, Cas.  Anything you tell me is between us.  I kinda figured that was a given after what happened at your brother’s bar.”

“What happened at his brother’s bar?”  Sam asked insistently, and Dean nudged him.

“Don’t you have cartoons you should be watching?  Scram, tiny tot.” 

“Killjoy.”

“Only yours.”

Sam left with a huff, and Dean smiled.  “What’s said in the Winchester house, stays in the Winchester house.  Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Briefly, Castiel tensed as Sam spoke, wincing at his own bad timing.  The fewer people that knew his pattern of operation, the better.  Nodding gratefully, he offered a slight smile.  “What we do for money, huh?”  He mumbled, giving a slightly hollow chuckle.

“Right?”  Dean huffed out a chuckle of his own, chewing down a bit of his breakfast before continuing.  “If only prostitution wasn’t illegal.  I could make a mint.”

Cas snorted softly, rolling his eyes as he reached  for a plate, biting into his toast.  It was better than he expected.  “Alternatively, you could start a cafe.”  He said around a mouthful.

“Yeah?”  Dean blushed faintly.  “I’ll have to take that into consideration.  As long as you aren’t there making me burn the french toast.”

Castiel chuckled quietly into his toast, glancing over at him. “No, I’ll just roll your patrons as they leave.”

“I’ll split the tips if you split the steal,” he hummed, grinning at him.  “And you could always distract me _after_ I’m done cooking.”

Cas flushed a little, suddenly very interested in his breakfast, trying to mask the little thrill his heart gave at the idea.

“Or, you know, not.”  Dean said, awkward as he shuffled his feet, feeling like maybe he’d pushed a little too far.  “If you’re really not into the whole pressing me back against the countertop thing.”

“You’d, ah.  You’d be surprised.”  He mumbled, shoulders hunching as though he was trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.  He could remember the fleeting, but oh so satisfying brush of their lips, just as perfect as he’d imagined.

“Would I?”  Peering up at him through thick lashes, Dean tilted his head inquisitively, feeling a rush of _want_ flood through him like water spilling through a burst dam.  “Does that mean you _are_ into it?”

For a moment, Castiel blanked out, unable to think of a reasonable answer that didn’t give his affections  away.  Heart rate rising, he dared to look over at Dean, seeing something suspiciously akin to desire in his eyes-- though it couldn't be.  Taking a chance, he nodded stiffly.

“A little.  Yeah.”

Swallowing thickly, Dean had to suppress a shiver of delight, feeling a thrum of satisfaction reverberate through him.  “Good,” he muttered, finishing off his breakfast and setting aside his plate to brush by Castiel as he headed for the living room.  “Because I am too.”

He had to double take, blinking in disbelief as he heard Dean speak.  There was no way he meant that right?  Had to be lying.  Biting at his lower lip nervously, Cas hummed his pleasure, knowing satisfaction when he heard it.  Maybe Dean did mean it.  Maybe he wasn’t falling alone.

 


	7. Be Careful Who You Tell (You’ve Got a Guilty, Filthy Soul)

Ellen’s place always seemed to be busiest on Saturday and Sunday nights.  The Saturdays weren’t that surprising-- people liked to get out to eat on weekends, liked to sit down and have a cold drink, liked to socialize.  Sundays were the odd part.  More often than not, people tended to stay in on Sundays.  They had to get ready for the beginning of a new week.  They had to prepare themselves for nine-to-five shifts and picking up the kids from school and have mediocre sex with someone they had stopped loving years previous.  It was a day to steel yourself.

But Ellen’s was busy on Sundays.  An oddity, but a fact.

On occasion, Dean worked at Ellen’s.  When he needed the money to cover whatever bill John’s welfare wouldn’t take care of or whenever the grill needed a shift picked up.  He usually was restricted to playing host and bussing tables, though from time to time he got to wait tables and serve drinks.  The latter, of course, being rare and far between.  Legally, he wasn’t supposed to bartend, but Ellen let it slide when she knew that the both of them desperately needed it-- when she had no one to cover the shift, and when Dean was hurting for the money-- though she always offered to give him whatever cash was required to pay off the electric or the water.

Dean wasn’t fond of handouts.

Which was how, on the Sunday after Castiel had stayed the night-- and most of Saturday, spent dancing around each other, the tension between them so palpable it was nearly suffocating-- at his house, Dean ended up behind the counter at Ellen’s.  Though he wasn’t particularly happy dealing with drunks that smelled too much like his father, he was willing to do it for the tips he earned with a winning smile and a fast and talented hand for mixing drinks. 

It was nearly midnight when a newcomer sidled up to the bar, a familiar face that Dean couldn’t quite place; he nearly missed him with his mind on Sam home alone _again_ , and he was practically kicking himself for not being able to do a better job for his younger brother.  For not being able to take care of him like he should be.

 

On a scale of one to his own place --because frankly, Gabriel did run a fine establishment, even if his own opinion was bias to no end-- The Roadhouse wasn’t quite up to the standard of that stripper joint in Nevada, but definitely beat most of the dives around.  Blowing out a soft huff, he leant against the bar, taking idle interest in the man next to him and his fruitless attempts to woo the woman perched on a stool, hiding a laugh behind his beer.  People were so funny sometimes. 

Nights off were infrequent at best; nights off on a _Sunday_ even more so, and sometimes even he needed some time off, silently thanking Kali for agreeing to keep things in order for him.  Days off, drinks, and a view were both rare and never rejected.  Slowly, he tracked the path of the frankly edible bartender, watching him grin with definite approval.  Somewhere, something in the back of his mind pinged his features, recognising something though he couldn’t be bothered to follow it up.

“What can I get for you, sir?”  Dean flashed a charming grin, leaning against the bar in front of the blond man. 

“Depends, what’s good?”  Gabriel asked, inclining his head a little, the easy smile on his face hiding something a little predatory.

“Depends,” Dean countered, far too used to playing this part for some of the more interested patrons, shallow flirting coming to him like a second nature.  “Are you looking for something sweet or savory?”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows briefly, flicking an interested gaze over him.  “Sweet.  I think.”  He returned, putting his glass down with a hollow thud.  “Any recommendations?”

“I can probably think of a few,” he winked, humming as he drummed his fingers against the hardwood contemplatively before taking his glass away.  “How do you feel about tequila?”

Gabe nodded once, watching the drum of his fingers and the curl of his lips with near lecherous intent.

“So, what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?”  He asked, pulling off the cheesy line with surprising ease. 

“Exactly what everyone else is doing,” Dean huffed out a faint laugh; working behind the bar got him hit on, and playing it up tended to earn him good tips, so he did it despite the fact that quite frequently it made him uncomfortable.  He worked with ease behind the counter, splashing some of the Herruda into his shaker before he flipped the bottle and set it aside.  Tricks earned him things too.  Pouring a mix of apple and watermelon spritzers in, he added a dash of lime juice and then capped it off and shook it all together.  “Making money.  Why?  You think a pretty thing like me should be elsewhere?”

“I could name a few places.  Most of them are horizontal, but hey, I’m flexible.”  He returned, the grin on his face unabashedly interested, leaning in to watch as the bartender worked, all lean lines and a frankly tantalising ass that curved just so.

Pouring out his drink into a chilled glass, he set it down in front of him, plastering on a charming smirk.  “You’re flexible?  Imagine that.  Me too.”

Oh, he liked where this was going.  Gabe liked this a lot; even if that stupid tingle in the back of his mind kept telling him to back off.  Taking a curious sip at his drink, Gabriel smirked at him, near identical to his brother’s.

“You’d be surprised, the amount of trouble a couple of bendy people can get into.”

“And the places they can find trouble in,” Dean said mildly, letting his gaze drift down over him slowly and then back up. 

Gabriel made a sound of agreement, knocking back his drink as he settled in to blatantly flirt with the bartender.  “But if you’re quiet enough about it, they won’t find us.”

“See?  That’s where we’re gonna have a problem,” he sighed, mockingly forlorn as he leaned against the edge of the bar, unneeded by any other patrons and able to give this man the attention he seemed to want.  “I’m _very_ vocal.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to lock the door.”  Gabriel countered, looking over at him, shifting a little in his seat.  He could feel the buzz between them, though that may have been the tequila.  “Or maybe we could go back to my place.”  He added, leaning in a little closer.  “What time do you finish?”

“ _That_ ,” Dean chortled, though there was a faint spike of panic that tugged at his gut, hidden beneath his smile.  “is going to cost extra.  Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to hang around for that long anyways.”

“I can be a very patient man.”  He replied, “and money is no object.”  Gabe added, a tiny white lie considering his dwindling bank balance.  “So, you got a name, sweetheart, or do I get to call you whatever I want?”

“Patience is an admirable virtue.  Especially behind closed doors.  Patient between the sheets too?”  He asked, voice soft and low, and his lips curled into a slow grin.  “As for my name, you can call me whatever you like, but most call me Dean.”

“Depends on who I’m dealing with.  For you, probably.”  He said, enjoying the curl of Dean’s lips.  The stupid niggle was back again, alarm bells quashed by his libido.  “Dean...  I like that.  Easy to scream.

“Another thing we have in common,” he replied, moving to top his drink off.  “And what name would I be screaming?”

“Gabe.”  He replied, nodding his thanks as his drink was filled again, debating whether to offer a hand before deciding that one generally didn’t shake hands with potential bedmates.

“Pleasure to meet you, Gabe.”  Dean bowed his head slightly, wondering just how far he should let this go.  “How’s your drink?”

“Just fine.”  Gabriel replied, though he wasn’t really talking about the drink, much more interested in the man serving it.

“Good to hear.”  There was that slow curl of his lips again, smile far too inviting to be fair.  “Anything else I can do for you?”

Gabriel shivered a little, finding that smile of his far too attractive to be real, let alone directed his way.  “I could name a few things.”  He purred, wondering if those lips were as good as they looked.

“Oh, I’m sure you could.”  Dean laughed softly.  “And I’m betting not all of them are horizontal.”

He took a moment to think it over, flicking through the dozen or so ideas that would no doubt fuel his less than spectacular love life --read: left hand-- for a good week.  “No, not all of them.  But I reckon you’d be used to kneeling.”

Dean’s breath caught, and his eyes widened minutely at Gabe’s words, and a nervousness filled him that he had to squash back down.  “I’ve been on my knees once or twice--”

“Dean Henry Winchester!”  Ellen’s voice rang out sharp as she sidled up to the bar, gaze scolding; Dean tried not to wince.  “What in the hell are you still doing on shift?  You’ve got class in the morning-- you were supposed to be off an hour ago.”

“Amy’s late, Ellen.”  He supplied, looking vaguely guilty.

“That girl,” she huffed, giving him a pointed look.  “I’m gonna call her, and when I get back, you better clock off and get home.  I don’t wanna hear anything about you falling asleep at your desk.”

“You got it, Ellen.”  Dean replied, nodding as she turned to walk to the back where her office was.  After a moment, he turned his gaze on Gabe, offering up a smile.  “Sorry about that.”

Gabriel nearly swallowed his own tongue, sputtering a little as Dean spoke to what he assumed was the owner.  He recognised that name because dammit if this wasn’t the guy that had Cas gushing like a little girl.

“Winchester...  Like, swim team Dean?”  He asked, the mood he’d set dropping like a stone, an oddly dirty feeling settling over him.  He was just a kid; a very hot kid, but still a kid.  “Fuck-- No way.  What the hell are you doing here?  Actually... nevermind.  Let’s just forget about this, huh?”

Brow furrowing, Dean tilted his head, and there was a vice of fear gripping his heart like icy fingers.  “You know me?”

“My brother knows you.”  He replied, scrambling off his seat, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly.  “Castiel...  He uh, tutors you or something.  Just don’t tell Cassie, okay, he’ll gut me.”  Gabriel said, knowing his baby brother was both incredible protective, and a little grabby with his things.

“ _Gabriel_?”  He asked, voice taking on an embarrassingly high pitch as he stared over at him with wide eyes, recognition dawning as he realized this was the man who had dealt with his drunken father on more than one occasion.  That this was Castiel’s older brother who Dean had been shamelessly flirting with in order to get a better tip. 

“One and only.”  Gabe mumbled, leafing through his wallet and throwing down a fifty.  “Keep the change, don’t tell Cas.”  He added, withdrawing with his proverbial tail between his legs.  So much for a relaxing evening out.

* * *

 

The next day was, more or less, stressful for Dean.  One of the reasons, naturally, being the test results he was waiting for in his pre-calc class that would determine whether or not he could start playing sports again.  The other being the abundantly awkward conversation he'd had with Castiel's brother the night previous-- and the absolute guilt and mortification he felt for having it happen at all.  Which was ridiculous because, aside from a few possibly intimate touches and looks and conversations, Castiel and him were _just friends_.

And as much as he hated it, it was more than likely to stay that way.

So, when Dean saw Cas in the hall just before lunch, he pretended not to notice him and prayed that the Castiel would do the same.

 

Apart from an unusually stammering Gabriel, Cas' Sunday had been rather uneventful, though he did wake up oddly warm, memory of soft lips on his lingering in his sleep addled mind as it had the night previous, and undoubtedly would the coming evening.  A couple weeks ago, after they’d gone out to the lake together, he'd taken to watching over Dean's locker between classes hoping to catch him; though every time he turned up, Cas managed to find an excuse not to talk to him, just observe less than discreetly from across the hall.

A smile lit up his face when Dean noticed him, halfway towards him when he noticed the tension, shoulders dropping in disappointment.  He knew when he was being ignored.  Lingering for a moment, Castiel merged back into the crowds, the usual satisfaction that came with people parting ways for him not reaching him like it normally did.  Maybe he did push things a little too far before.

Letting his head thud heavily against his locker, Dean heaved a long sigh, eyes closing as Castiel walked down the hall.  He felt like a complete prick.

"What's got your panties in a twist?"  Charlie chirped, far too upbeat for the way Dean was feeling, and he leveled a half-hearted glare her way as she leaned against the metal next to him.  "And I mean that metaphorically, dear.  Unless you _are_ wearing panties to school again."

Dean went red in an instant, looking around the hall fervently, and finding no one paying the two of them any mind.  "Would you shut _up_?  That was _one time_ because Rhonda told me too."

"And you'd do anything Rhonda Hurley told you," she said snidely, plucking at his shirt in tease; they were nearly matching, he and Charlie, both adorning superhero shirts-- her's being Captain America and Dean's Iron Man.

"She was my girlfriend, Charlie."  He huffed, jerking open his locker door with a bit more force than necessary.  "My _first_ girlfriend.  I was a Freshman, what did you expect?"

Charlie laughed,  "For you not to like them.  Imagine my surprise when I found out you did."

Dean had to resist the urge to squirm, placing his books in and pulling his lunch out.  He couldn't afford school lunches, so he packed his and Sam's every morning.  Snapping the door shut, he moved down the hall, heading for the cafeteria with Charlie on his arm.

"Not but seriously, dude."  She nudged into his side, and he rolled his eyes briefly, trying and failing not to smile.  "What's up?  End of the world as we know it?  Did you fail that test?"

"No and don't know yet.  The suspense is kind of murdering my soul."

"Then what is it--?"

Charlie was cut off by Meg as she pressed herself along Dean's other side, grinning slyly as she lead them through the double doors of the lunch room.  "Dean-o, here, is avoiding his boyfriend."

"What are you even--?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed or talked to Garth about it," Meg raised an eyebrow, giving him a dull, dry look.  "You've gotten real cozy with Castiel Novak recently."

They spoke over a cacophony of noise; voices and laughter spilling out and drowning out everything to a dull hum.  Their school colors-- green and black-- painted the walls, and banners of awards they had won hung from the rafters for grades and athletics.  Tables scattered through the room, large enough to accept most of the student body; those that couldn’t fit were forced out onto bench seats and the cooling days of fall.  Dean returned waves casually, awkwardly, to those who saw him; some of the soccer team, the swim team, and a few from the sparse bit of clubs he’d joined at the beginning of the year.

It wasn’t odd for so many people to know him.  To recognize him.  He wasn’t popular, not by a long shot, but people knew him.  From his achievements on the field and in the pool, and his supposed conquests.  Being so pretty had its downfalls sometimes.

"He's my _tutor_ , you guys know that.  And he just so happens to be a pretty cool guy.  So we're hanging out, it's no big deal."  Dean huffed, jaw aching from the forced smile he had on his face, and his eyes widened slightly when he found himself being lead over to an almost vacant table-- the only other person there being the topic at hand.

Charlie grinned.  "Then why are you all tense, Dean?"

"I'm not--" he cut himself off, coming to a slow stop in front of Castiel, and offering up a weak smile-- a blush managed to find it's way onto his face, both from his friends' badgering and from memories of the inappropriate conversation he'd had with this man's brother the night before.  "Uh, hey, Cas."

Castiel wasn't expecting to have any company, let alone Dean's, hiding the speed of his heart beat, and the goofy smile that threatened to break through.  Briefly, he looked over at Meg, offering a cordial nod to her. Looking up at Dean, a small smile curved his lips.

"Hello, Dean."  He said evenly.

"Um," he cleared his throat, moving a touch closer.  "Mind if we sit with you?"

Eying off Dean's companions a little warily, Castiel nodded, shifting so they could sit.  If Dean trusted them, then they must be good people.  "Not at all."

Swallowing thickly, Dean watched as Charlie and Meg were quick to settle down at the table, and he did so too.  Sitting across from him, he gave a soft smile Castiel's way, hesitantly nudging at his foot in question underneath the tabletop-- making sure that they were okay.  The insistent blush wouldn't leave his features, and he brushed off Charlie's teasing touch as she reached for him.

"You okay there, Dean?  Running a fever or anything?"  She smiled, and he rolled his eyes.  "You've been flush since we got in here."

"I'm fine," he insisted, grumbling under his breath as he pulled out his lunch, and Meg was decent enough to hide her laughter behind a hand.

Castiel had to hide his smile when Dean nudged a his foot, giving a faint nod his way.  Everything was fine, even if Dean did look a little nervous.  He chuckled faintly, lips quirking up in the fleeting grin, the kind that generally had people eating out of his hands. "Been running a fever for a few weeks if my observations are correct."

"Oh?"  Meg perked up, avid interest, glancing over at Dean with a what could be mistaken as a cruel smirk if he didn't know her so well.  "Little hot under the collar there, Dean-o?"

Dean grimaced and kicked her shin, making her wince and bark out a laugh.  "I'm perfectly fine-- I don't get sick."

"Jesus Christ," Charlie huffed, but she was smiling as she nudged into his side.  "Not this again."

"Not what again?"  Garth's mild twang cut in as he wedged his way between Meg and Dean. 

"The health conversation."  Meg and Charlie said at once, and Garth shook his head ruefully.

"Nearly passed out last year during that home meet.  Fever of a hundred an' three, Dean."  Garth supplied, stuffing a bite of pizza into his mouth before continuing.  "That's called being sick, man."

Castiel listened with interest as Dean's friends spoke, the way they all worked in near perfect sync was intriguing to watch even if he was a little jealous.  When Garth spoke, a frown clouded his features, nudging at Dean's calf in gentle reprimand.  "How did you not notice?"

"I wasn't--"

"Oh, he noticed."  Garth grinned, looping an arm around his neck and ruffling his hair.  "He just didn't say a goddamn thing, the lunatic."

"I was fine," Dean muttered, ducking out from under his arm as he peeled open his Tupperware full of pasta he'd made from the night previous.  "It wasn't a big deal."

"And this is what we deal with," Charlie gave a dramatic little sigh, looking over at Castiel with a bright smile.  "You should hear some of the other stories-- like that time he had a cough so bad it nearly knocked him over and he was trying to take care of Sam, who had the flu, and he ended up--"

"Aaand we're done talking about my supposed illnesses."  He said with a faint sigh, foot twitching next to Castiel's beneath the table as he nudged it again; he dragged the toe of his shoe along the line of his ankle tentatively. 

"Cas, you've met Garth.  This is Meg and Charlie."

Sensing Dean wanted a change of subject, Castiel jumped at the opportunity to do so, not wanting to make him anymore uncomfortable.  Turning his attention back to Dean's friends, he bowed his head in greeting.  "I know Meg," he said flatly, no bite to his words, turning to the red head beside Dean. 

"And you must be Charlie."  He said, not offering a hand, though he looked over her, gaze unwavering, as though taking her apart and analysing the pieces.

"And you must be Cas," she countered with a smile, flicking her hair over her shoulder, preening under his knowing tone and figuring she must be spoken of often.  "Nice to finally speak to you instead of ogling you and your leather jacket from afar."

"You know Meg?"  Dean asked curiously, feeling the faintest flare of jealousy swell in him. 

The woman in question gave a sultry laugh, flashing Castiel a small smirk.  "Oh, he knows me."

Finding Charlie's preening amusing, he offered a slight grin, huffing out a soft laugh before turning to Dean, giving a slight shrug.  "Quite well."  He agreed, sharing Meg's smirk, confident that enough time had passed for any awkwardness between them to have vanished.  "We dated for a little while."  He explained upon seeing Dean's expectant look.

"Yeah?"  Dean swallowed down the bitter taste on his tongue with a bite of food, envy burning in his gut.  "And how did that go?  Any dark, painful secrets you two would like to digress?"

He shrugged slightly, looking over at Meg briefly, seeing no resistance to Dean's prodding.  "I wouldn't say painful....  Well, not unintentionally at least."  He said, a low tone to his voice as he remembered, almost fond despite the graphic nature of the memories.  "Dark could be the appropriate word though."

Meg grinned wryly, resting her chin in a hand, and she gave Dean a knowing wink.  "If you want, I can give you the details later, Dean-o.  I'm sure you'd be interested in hearing some of them."

"I'm fine, thanks."  He muttered, picking at his noodles, gaze cast down as he slid his feet back from where he'd been resting them alongside Castiel's.  "Though if Charlie's into that, I'm sure she'd like to hear some."

"Definitely," Charlie quipped, giving her girlfriend a look that was both interest and warning.  "In fact, I'd say we could talk about it soon.  Like, right after school.  Privately.  _Where I can be mad at you_."

"Hush," Meg's smiled softened with affection.  "You know I've only got eyes for you.  And hands.  And _lips_ \--"

"And some of us are eatin', ladies."  Garth grunted.  "Save the intimacies for later.  I'd still like to respect ya in the mornin'."

Castiel squinted at them for a moment, realisation dawning with a soft smile, oddly comfortable with Meg, though not in the way he was with Dean.

"Congratulations."  He said, gaze flicking back to Dean, nudging at his foot gently, expression softening slightly, the usual guard he wore slipping for a fraction of a second.

"Thanks, Clarence."  Meg replied, but she was so focused on the way Charlie was smiling that she didn't notice his absent tone.

Dean glanced back up, noting his expression, and he nudged back.  He dragged his foot-- clad in a pair of worn All Stars-- up his calf slowly, gently, just barely touching him.  Grateful that he was already blushing because he knew he would be turning a pink color when he realized that they were practically play footsie beneath the table.

Castiel kept a surprisingly blank face, only just noting the long lost nickname that Meg was so fond of.   He never did ask why she called him Clarence, deeming it of little importance.  A fond smile flickering so briefly it was only noticeable by those who knew how to read him; he looked over at Dean, nudging his leg against the foot currently sliding by.

Grinning to himself, Dean glanced down, heel hooking at the back of Castiel's ankle and urging his foot closer as they continued this little game.  "So how was the rest of your weekend?"

"The rest?"  Charlie tuned in, stealing some food from in front of Dean.  "Is that to say you spent part of it together?"

Huffing a soft laugh for seemingly no reason, Castiel flexed his foot, escaping only to let his foot rest comfortably next to Dean's, deciding boots weren't the best things to play footsie in.  He shrugged a little at Dean's question in general neutrality.  "Nothing of importance, though Gabriel was a little weird on Sunday."

Brushing off Charlie's curious look, he felt all the color drain from his face at the mention of Castiel's brother, and he shifted uncomfortably.  "Yeah?  How so?"

He tilted his head as Dean shifted, trying to find the source of his discomfort.  "He went out and came back a little shaken up is all.  Wouldn't tell me anything, so I figured he just had a bad beer or something."  He replied, leaning in a little.  "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he practically squeaked, wincing at his own tone, and even Garth gave him an odd look.  "I'm good."

"Uh, oh."  Charlie hummed, shaking her head.  "That's his lying face.  Should we leave?  Is this going to be a private conversation?"

"No, it--"

"Still his lying face," Garth muttered, and they were gathering their things before he could stop them.  Charlie pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then they were gone, running off to do their own thing, and Dean wished the world would open up and swallow him whole when he wanted.

Castiel gave a possessive growl, low in the back of his throat when Charlie kissed him despite knowing she was currently involved with Meg, a little taken aback by his actions, having no reason to be possessive.  Turning his attentions back to Dean, he raised an expectant eyebrow.  "Something wrong?"  He asked, tone softening.

"Um...  Nothing 'wrong' per se," he muttered, almost wanting to pull his feet back from where they were tangled with Castiel's under the table.  "Your brother is an interesting guy.”

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Castiel canted his head.  "I wasn't aware you'd met."  He said.  "But yeah, interesting is the word I'd use.  That and downright annoying.  Where'd you see him?"

"Last night," he admittedly softly.  "At The Roadhouse.  I, uh, work there sometimes.  He came in, and I was working a shift behind the bar.  Honestly, I had no clue who he was at first.  Just another customer, right?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  "What did he do?"  He asked, knowing Gabriel never just went out for kicks.  Something always broke, or someone got hit on, or worse, actually hit.

"Nothing really," Dean shrugged, but the blush was back, hinting at what he wouldn't say.  "Ordered a drink.  Bit of shameless flirting.  Usual for patrons."

The scowl Cas gave was positively furious, the kind one generally associated with violence.  Gripping at the table to keep from doing anything too stupid, he growled softly.  "He did what to you?"

"He didn't do anything to me, Cas."  He scoffed, giving him a look.  "He hit on me.  And, as I'm sure you know, a bit of...  encouragement tends to earn its own rewards in the service industry.  But after he found out who I was, he sort of panicked and got the hell out of there.  Kinda weird, honestly."

"Damn straight he got the fuck out of there."  Castiel grumbled, making a mental note to have words with his brother later.  Dean was off limits, thank you very much.

"Yeah, okay.  Point is, it was kinda really awkward."  Dean shrugged, shifting uncomfortably.  "I just figured I would let you know before I ever met him again.  You know, if you wanted me to."

Resisting the urge to decide then and there that Gabriel wouldn't be going anywhere near Dean for the rest of his life, Cas grunted softly, expression still stormy.  "Don't worry, I think he understand his limits now.  And if he doesn't, I'll teach him."

"Cas," he huffed, finding him incredibly endearing in that moment.  "Don't teach him anything.  He didn't do anything wrong.  Besides, he asked me not to mention it at all.  I'm sort of doing him a disservice right now."

"He'll get over it."  He said, "Just as long as Kali doesn't find out, she'll tear him to pieces if she does."

Brow quirking up, he grinned.  "Kali?"

Humming, Castiel nodded, trying to think of the best way to describe Gabriel on and off girlfriend.  "Bar maid...  Sort of has a thing with Gabriel...  I don't even know anymore, one minute they're dating, the next minute they aren't.  She's terrifying when she wants to be."

"So the whole taking me home with him thing would have wound up backfiring no matter what, huh?"   Dean teased, only just realizing what he'd said after it had spilled over his lips.

"If Kali didn't kill him, I would."  He deadpanned, realising the full extent of Gabriel's antics.

Clearing his throat again, Dean glanced back down at his half-eaten lunch, feeling slightly guilty.  There was a small part of him that was all but purring in satisfaction at the possessive quality Castiel's voice had taken, but he quashed it easily.  "Well nothing happened aside from a bit of harmless flirting.  So no need for any dead bodies."

 "No dead bodies."  He agreed, taking a deep breath.

Smiling, small and to himself, he glanced back up at him almost coyly, nudging at his foot.  "On a hopefully brighter note, I get that test back today.  I'm kind of freaking out.  Like, a lot."

His expression softened when Dean nudged at his foot again, legs comfortably resting together.

"You'll do fine.  I know you will."

"If I got a B on it, I'm officially passing all my classes."  Dean muttered, feeling a stir of excitement.  "Which means I'll get to start playing soccer again..."  He let the statement settle, let it fall awkwardly between them, implying that they wouldn't be able to meet up anymore.

It was wonderful news, though Castiel couldn't help but feel his heart drop at the announcement.  They wouldn't see each other if Dean started playing again; he wouldn't need a tutor.

"And then you'll be on your way.  It was going to happen eventually."  He said, falsely pleased.

"Actually," Dean sat up a bit straighter, plastering the best regretful expression he could muster over his face-- because the lie slipping over his lips was selfish and greedy, not willing to give up having Castiel to himself every Monday afternoon.  "You're gonna have to deal with me for a while longer."

Something like hope lit up his face, the open kind of expression rarely seen on an otherwise closed off person.  "Really?"  He asked, far too quickly.  "I mean.  That's strange.  Your grades are high enough."  He added, trying to rectify his childish hope.

"Safety net,"  he shrugged, but there was a smile on his face because he just couldn't help himself.    “I thought-- _Henriksen_ thought it would be a good idea for us to keep meeting Mondays after school.  To make sure I keep them up, you know?"

Castiel smiled at him, giving a pleased hum at the news.  "I understand.  Can't let all that hard work go to waste."

"Exactly," he replied, shuffling his food to do it.  "So we're still on for Monday afternoons.  And more, if you think I need it."

Castiel nodded once, a contented look on his face.  "Monday will do for now."  He replied.

"Awesome," he grinned.  "So I can let you know how I did today after class.  Wanna walk to the library together?"

"I'd like that."  He said, enjoying the way Dean grinned, filing the expression away with the rest of the beautiful things he'd memorised.

* * *

 

 

With as few theatrics as possible, Castiel had busted out of his last class, deeming it of lesser importance when compared to Dean.  The lingering threat of his history teacher was waved off, though he knew another visit to Crowley would probably be on the cards soon, already thinking of ways to get out of his punishment.  Waiting patiently beside Dean’s locker, his back was pressed to cold metal as the bell rang out, watching people slowly begin to fill the halls. 

Regarding the indignant teenager gesturing for him to move away from the locker he was blocking with an unwavering stare, he moved for them, enjoying the way they spooked a little when he did.  Sometimes it was better to be feared.

"Cas!"  Dean couldn't stop smiling as he came walking up, paper in hand-- and a note from Henriksen saying he was back on the team.  Excitement thrummed through him, and he pressed up close in order to show him the test.  He'd rushed from his class, wanting to be able to tell Castiel first thing.  “I did it!”

Turning abruptly when he heard Dean's voice, a smile lit up Castiel's face, looking at the paper being shown to him, and then back to Dean, pride radiating from his every feature.  "I knew it."  He grinned, hooking an arm around his shoulders and squeezing gently.

"Not only did I do it, but I aced it.  Which means," he pressed into his side, still grinning like a fool.  "I get to start playing sports again.  And that me and you?  Need to celebrate."

Considering Castiel's generally enigmatic persona, to see him give blatant affection caused a few disbelieving looks to be exchanged among the passing crowds; whispering to each other, staring unabashedly as he leant against Dean, completely oblivious to anything but him as they passed by.

"Drinks are on me. "  Cas smiled, nudging his hip playfully.

Dean’s head fell back as he laughed, one of those genuine smiles spreading over his face as he hit the paper; he couldn't believe he wasn't failing all of his classes anymore.  He couldn't believe things were going so well for him.  "On a school night, Cas?  Really?  I'm appalled."  He replied, tone light and teasing.  "At least wait until the weekend."

"Nerd."  He retorted, grinning so broadly his nose crinkled, enjoying the smile on Dean's face.  "Fine, Friday, no excuses, we are going to celebrate a great victory over the education system!"

"Friday.  Okay."  He looked up at him, breath catching faintly when he noted how close they were.  Hesitating a moment, he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer as he hugged him, bodies pressed from shoulder to thigh.  "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel froze for a second, hands clenching at his sides until he finally kicked his brain into gear and hugged him back, enjoying the warmth of his body.  "Very welcome."  He mumbled.

Chuckling, almost awkwardly, he pulled from the embrace after a long moment, taking a slow step back as his face warmed.  Dragging a hand through his hair, it stood at funny angles, and he grinned over at him lop-lopsidedly.  "So are we studying today?  Or do you want to do something else?"

They had a small audience by now, a few people who had paused at the row of lockers across the hall to stare as subtly as they could (which wasn’t very subtle at all) and most of them people in Cas' year, gawking at the otherwise cold boy as he grinned.  Nodding, he cleared his throat, tingling faintly with residual heat, missing the tight clench of arms around him.  "I think you deserve a day off."

"What do you wanna do then?"  He asked, forcing himself not to step back into Cas’ space, missing the way he'd smelled-- like fresh rain. 

"What do people generally do when they take time off?"  He asked, finally noticing the smattering of onlookers, tensing as he glared at them, smile dropping abruptly.  Watching them disperse, he returned his attentions to Dean, less jovial now, but still pleased for him.  "We could go out to that lake again. You could come hustle pool with me...  Though I don't think that counts as a pastime."

"Nah, I'm not good at pool,"  Dean brushed him off, not wanting to go do something he used to do to earn a few dollars when Sammy and he needed it.  "We could go to the lake.  Or we could go be lazy asses, and I could inflict _Firefly_ upon you."

"I don't think insects are particularly threatening."  He said, brow furrowing slightly.  "But it sounds amusing."

“The show, Cas.”  He said, finding the wrinkle between his eyebrows incredibly endearing.

Realising his mistake, Castiel nodded, "Yeah. That sounds like a plan."

"Okay," he smiled, moving to open his locker up, placing his things into it.  "My place or yours?  I own it, but I mean, it's on Netflix so if you'd rather not go to my house we can use that."

"Gabriel probably has a copy.  He watches that kinda stuff all the time."  He said, a little reluctant to let Dean into the presence of his brother again.  "Though yours would be easier."

Plucking out what few assignments he would need to work on for that night, he placed them in his backpack and then slung it over his shoulder, snapping the metal door shut.  “My place it is, then.  Plus, if Sammy didn't eat them all, I think we've still got some junk food.”

Castiel nodded, shifting away as Dean closed the locker, a small smile on his face.  "What's it about anyway?  This ‘Firefly’."

“Adventure,” He grinned, tempted to loop his arm with Castiel's, but noted the spare sets of eyes on the pair of them and felt as though maybe he wouldn't appreciate such an affectionate touch in front of all these people.

 "Adventure is always good."

“Yes, it is.”  He smiled, moving to press through the crowd and down the hallway to the exit.  “There's space too.  And cowboys.  And this wicked little psychic-- well, I'll just let you find that out on your own.”

Letting out a slightly put upon sigh, Castiel looked over to him as they stepped out the double doors and into the afternoon sun.  "Y'know, I hate cliffhangers."  He drawled out, teasing despite the truth in his words.

Laughing, he nudged into his side, moving ahead of him to walk backwards with a wry smile.  “Y'know, I just can't bring myself to feel sorry for you.”

"Of course you can't."  He jibed, a smile on his face, the kind that he didn't wear near often enough, and certainly never in public.  "Cold hearted."

Humming, he shrugged nonchalantly, tucking his hands into his pockets to resist reaching to touch him and that beautiful smile.  “What can I say?  I'm a cruel son of a bitch.  I just like to watch you squirm.”

"I'm sure you would."  He said, a little quieter than he usually might, none of his previous tease present. 

Stumbling at the edge of the sidewalk, Dean's expression slipped faintly, and he gave a soft huff of breath like it was knocked out of him.  “I'm sure I would.”

A soft flush took up unwanted residence on Dean’s cheeks, chancing a glance up at him, afraid he'd said too much.  Cas was staring at him, expression giving away nothing more than mild interest.

Swallowing thickly, Dean came to a slow stop right before him, and he felt his stomach clench and his palms itch and he _wanted_.  Wanted to close the space between them and kiss Castiel senseless.  But he knew better than that.  Knew that teasing was one thing-- that there was no way Castiel could want him like that.  He could barely grasp why Cas wanted him as a friend.

"I'm sure it would be quite the sight," he jibed weakly, but there was a wicked grin on his face.  "You, squirming." 

Painting a smile on his face in order to keep up with Dean's teasing, Castiel met his grin easily.  "So I've been told."  He smirked, trying to ignore the desire that flared in him, knowing it was not his place, refusing to yield to it.

"Oh?"  And there was a touch of jealousy, but he easily concealed it as he stepped a touch closer, toes hitting the curb.  "Now, do you enjoy doing the squirming or do you like it the other way around?"

Castiel gave a slight shrug, pushing down the desire to lean in and kiss that jealous little look right off his face.  "Depends on the person I'm with."  He admitted.

 _And if you were with me?_   Dean hummed, feigning disinterest.  "Been with a lot of people?"

"No, only Meg.  Though there have been one or two close calls."  He said, looking over him quickly, as though afraid he'd be caught out.

"Oh," he replied, shock blatant on his face, having expected Castiel to have much more experience than that with the way he spoke.  Seeing the searching look on his face, he stammered out another response.  "Same-- I mean, no, not the same.  Not with Meg-- _never_ with Meg, no offense-- but I mean, well, I mean I haven't squirmed for anyone--"  Cutting himself off with a sigh, he dragged an awkward hand through his hair and scrubbed at the back of his head.  "Close calls.  Nothing else.  And not many of those either." 

A frown furrowed Cas' brow, looking at him curiously.  "They must be blind."  He said, opening his mouth without thinking about the consequences.

"Who?"  He glanced up, head canting slightly, though a flush spread over his face at the complement.

Cas stalled for a moment, mumbling unintelligibly under his breath.  "They.  All of them.  Everyone."  He babbled, mouth running as his nerves grew.

"What if..."  he stepped back up onto the curb, voice lowering.  "What if it wasn't them that chose not to-- well, you know.  What if it was me?  What if I was the one who didn't want to go further-- didn't want to- to squirm for them or make them...  squirm?"  His face grew a deep red, and he offered up a weak smile.  "In a manner of speaking."

Castiel cleared his throat a little, shifting from foot to foot.  "Then it's a shame for them, I suppose."  He mumbled, chancing a glance at him, hiding his disappointment carefully, taking it as dismissal, because there was no way he'd ever get Dean's attention.  Not really.  "But someone's bound to get your attention someday.  Find a pretty girl, get married.  2.5 children, white picket fence."

"Nah," he sighed, grin turning rueful.  "I've done the whole child-rearing thing with Sam.  I mean, yeah, maybe someday.  But I'm kinda thinking settling down with some hot guy and living my life sprawled out on a Mexican beach.  What do you think?"

It took a moment for him to process what he just heard, interest perking.  At least he wasn't completely without a chance.  "I've heard Mexican beaches are supposed to be relaxing."  He said, a shy smile on his face.  "But I prefer mountains."

"Well, a log cabin isn't out of the question."  He laughed faintly, feeling his nerves buzz with awareness, tiptoeing on eggshells around him.

Castiel stopped breathing altogether for a moment, staring at him in barely concealed disbelief.  There was no way Dean was implying what he thought he was implying.  There was no way Dean meant to follow him.  "I don't think they make mountains with beaches near them....  But I can compromise."

"Compromise is... always good," Dean said, feeling hope well up in him.  He went to move closer, maybe close the space between them, when he was startled by a horn going off behind him.  Jumping, he turned about, plastering on a fake smile as Jo pulled up in her beat up Honda.

"Dean!"  She called out to him excitedly as her passenger side window rolled down.  "Jesus, am I glad to see you."

Startling back, Castiel was quick to put some much loathed space between them, regarding his interruption with a slightly cold gaze.  They were so close and maybe he could have finally done something about the affection that had burrowed deep into him.

Jo slid to a stop and killed the engine; Dean winced as it sputtered, brow furrowing when she slid out of her car and popped the hood, smoke pouring from it.  "Fucking christ, Jo, what the hell did you do?"

"I don't know," she sighed, looking forlorning at it.  "Every time it gets hot out it does this.  Take a look at it for me?"

"Now?"  He glanced over at Castiel, giving him a regretful and apologetic look.  "I mean, I've kinda got plans, Jo--"

"I know, I know."  She replied reaching over to grab him familiarly by the wrist and tugging him over to the front of the car, despite the way he dragged his feet.  "I'm not asking you to fix it, not right now, I'll bring it by the shop for that.  But just... give it a look through?  Tell me what kind of crap I'm dealing with here?"

"Um..."  he looked back over at Cas, question in his gaze, wondering if it was alright to delay their marathon.

Castiel narrowed his eyes as she tugged Dean away, shoulders tensing in irritation.  Nodding once when Dean questioned him, he relaxed some, kept at bay by the apologetic look on his face.  "Take as long as you need."

Smiling at him, he only turned his attention back to Jo when she pulled urgingly at his wrist.  "Yeah, sure, let's take a look."

Slipping his bag off his shoulder, he let it slump onto the asphalt next to his feet and ducked underneath the hood of the car.  Waving his hand to clear the smoke, he squinted at all the mechanics, letting out a sharp sigh before he pulled back out already feeling the heat radiating off of the engine.  With deft hands, he checked over the oil and all of the usual suspects, but found things too hot to touch.

"Jo, hun, I think your radiator is busted."

Picking up Dean's bag, Cas stood steadfast beside the car, expression guarded as he waited with more patience than his reputation suggested.  He had no idea what a radiator did, but by the way Jo groaned, he assumed it was important.

"You're kidding me," she huffed, shaking her head like she refused to believe it.

"Afraid not," Dean grimaced, pulling back from the engine and snapping the hood back down.  "You can put as much coolant in it as you like, but it won't do much good if it can’t circulate it through.  Bring it by the shop tomorrow at four-- I should be out of practice by then, and I know Bobby will have a spot open for you."

"Do you think if I bring by dinner from The Roadhouse he'll give me a discount?"

Giving her a dry look, he wiped his hands off on his jeans, "He'll give you a discount anyway, Jo.  You know that."

"Right," she smiled, almost coy as she looked up at him.  "Thanks for taking a peek.  And for volunteering your services."

"You tip well," he grinned with a shrug, tucking his hands into his pockets.  "Besides, your mom would kill me if I didn't help out."

"Well, it's appreciated."  She leaned up, resting a hand on his chest as he pecked him on the cheek.   Rolling his eyes fondly, he took a step back up onto the sidewalk as she climbed into her car.

 "Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Glad to hear you're gonna be playing soccer again," she smiled winningly, ducking into her car and calling to him through the passenger side.  "I'll make sure to be at the home games, cheering you on from the stands."

"Yeah, yeah."  He waved her off, grimacing as her engine groaned to life, and watching as she started to roll away.  "Tell your mom I said hi!"  She saluted him out the window, and he chuckled faintly before he turned back to Castiel.  "Sorry about all that."

Castiel had glowered faintly from beside them as they looked over the car, watching as Jo spoke to Dean, eyes narrowed as he analysed her; a faint scowl had been plastered on his face the entire time the second he had noticed the way she lingered just a little too long on Dean's words, had stared too hard.  Competition never was valued.

"Who was she?"  He asked, handing his bag back.

"Who, Jo?"  He took his bag gratefully, flashing a smile at him as he started to lead the way to his car.  "My boss'-- Ellen's daughter.  Known her for years."  Pausing, he gave him a teasing smile, all jest.  "Why, you jealous, or something?"

"No."  He lied, watching as her car puttered away.  "Just curious.  I think she saw something she liked though."

"And what would that be?"  He snorted derisively, moving to jerk open his back door, tossing his bag onto the seat. 

"You."  He said simply, sliding into the passenger seat with practised familiarity.

Dean balked, climbing into the driver's side and turning to look at Castiel as they settled in.  "Me?"

Humming softly, he nodded, "I know infatuation when I see it."

Peering at him carefully, he shook his head, turning to start the engine and feeling it purr.  "I don't think you do." 

"I think I do."  He countered, settling in for yet another car ride, finding the small space a little confronting.

"Trust me, Cas."  He replied, almost solemnly.  "You don't.  You wouldn't know it if it punched you."  _Because I've been looking at you, infatuated, for weeks._

Grunting softly, he gave a noncommittal shrug. "Guess I'll have to learn then."

"Hopefully not," he muttered under his breath, pulling out of the parking lot, hoping that Castiel wouldn't learn to recognize it.  That he wouldn't ever see it plastered on Dean's face when he looked at him.  Because he couldn't stand the idea of Castiel seeing it and reacting with disgust.

"You say something?"  He asked, picking up on the faint mumble that could have been the radio, missing it almost completely in his pondering.  He knew infatuation, because he'd seen it on so many occasions.  Perhaps he'd missed something before.

"Nah," he swallowed, turning down the road, feeling a sad kind of resolve settle in him.  "Nothing."

Humming in faint disbelief, Cas turned back to the road before him, watching with dull interest.  The car may have made him feel ill, but it smelt of Dean-- comfort to his nerves whilst cooped up.


	8. That Boy Is Trouble (I’ve Got It Bad)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief mentions of child abuse, brief mentions of suicide.

 

It was near dark by the time Castiel had walked the half dozen blocks it was from his apartment to Dean’s house-- black clad to better blend with darkening streets-- moving through back alleys as opposed to main streets in case he was hauled down to the Sheriff's office for yet another questioning.  Apparently walking in the dark was a crime now.

Slowing as a familiar home came into view, he checked around him as discreetly as possible before slipping into the shadow cast by setting sun against the north side of Dean’s house. He hopped the fence with the ease borne of practice, thankful this one wasn’t as tall as some of the neighbors’ abodes.  Landing in the yard with a soft thud, he walked around until he found the window to Dean’s bedroom, deciding that breaking in would be less hassle than knocking and then having to wait to be answered, and _then_ potentially having to explain to what would be a slightly wary Sam his exact intentions for the evening.

Slipping a switch knife from the pocket sewn into the inside of his jacket, he bit down onto it as scaled the trellis on the side of the house, stopping to lever the window’s lock open, slipping it under the frame and flicking the catch with a practiced hand, thankful that Dean’s home was built in a similar style as the rest of the houses around and equipped with near identical windows.  Opening the window slowly to avoid too much noise, he replaced the knife and climbed into Dean’s room, finding it brightly lit, evenly furnished and near spotlessly clean save for the shirt draped on his bed.  Inconveniently, it was also lacking its owner.

Sighing softly, he closed the window, peeling a pair of gloves back and stowing them in his back pocket, wearing them out of forced of habit.  Leave no prints and they can’t prove much.  Taking it upon himself to stretch out, cat like, over Dean’s bed, he waited patiently to be found, not wanting to just appear in the kitchen without seeing his friend first.

 

 

Dean was sore to say the least-- the week had been harsh, and Friday practice had kicked his ass.  He was incredibly out of shape despite the occasional runs he’d been taking when he could fit them in.  Coach hadn’t been easy on him, but he had been grateful to have him back on the field.  The boys had been just as enthusiastic, though a few had been a touch wary and a little aggressive.  Dean was just happy he’d come away without any bruises.

His shower had been exactly what he needed, hot water cascading down over aching muscles, and easing all the tension he’d been carrying with himself throughout the week.  The room had steamed up, and his hair stuck up at odd angles when he stepped out of the stall, wrapping a towel around his waist.

He was tempted to call Cas, let him know that he was feeling lazy, and that going out tonight sounded like more or less of a hassle.  He’d already bagged out on Charlie and their pizza night in order to spend time with him, but protesting muscles begged otherwise.  Debating with himself, he trekked back into his bedroom, struggling with a bottle of ibuprofen as he made his way across the floor and over to his dresser.

Having to bite his tongue in order to keep from chuckling when Dean didn’t even notice, Cas watched as he wrestled with a pill bottle, lounging over his bed like he owned the place, boots and all.

“Hello, Dean.”  He said, calm despite the urge to laugh, fingers interlaced behind his head, giving an appreciative hum as he looked over the length of his still slightly damp body, beating back the flush that wanted to creep up.  Perhaps breaking in had its advantages after all. 

“Jesus _fuck_!”  Dean startled, cap slipping off the bottle, and pills came jumping out and scattered all over the place.  “ _Cas_ , what the hell--?”

Dean's face went beet red, and he took an awkward step back into the wooden dresser-- it clattered against the wall, knocking a few things off of the top.  Heart jack-hammering in his chest, Dean huffed out a tight breath, staring at him in shock.

“Cas, what the fuck?”

Not moving from what was a very comfortable bed --and yes, it did smell exactly as he thought it would-- Castiel gave a faint shrug, chuckling softly as Dean fumbled around.

“We’re going out, remember.  Decided to come by a little early.”  He smirked, raising his head to take a less than discrete look at Dean.  “Just in time for the show, am I?”

“I- I uh--” It was ridiculous that he was so embarrassed; he’d been much more naked in front of many more men.  He supposed that maybe it was because it was Castiel.  Clearing his throat, he gathered his bearings and stood up a bit straighter.  “No.  You missed the show-- it was fifteen minutes ago in the shower.  Why, you looking for a repeat?”

Regarding him with a certain arrogance, Castiel sat up, leering at him when he finally got a hold of himself.  “What, not enough of an audience for you?  Prefer the changing rooms?”

“The kind of show I’m talking about doesn’t belong in a locker room,” he replied darkly, noting the look on his friend’s face with a roll of his eyes.  “Now, if you would be so kind as to turn your back?  I’d like to get dressed.”

Huffing faintly, Castiel rolled over, messing up the otherwise neat bed as he did, back facing Dean as he waited for him to change, a little disappointed he couldn’t watch.

Inhaling deeply, Dean turned, facing away from his bed as he let the towel drop unceremoniously to the floor.  "Breaking and entering is a crime, you know."

“So are a lot of things, but I still do them.”  Cas retorted, hearing the drop of a slightly damp towel.  “It’s easier breaking in anyway, I wouldn't exactly call this place secure.”

"What do you mean 'secure'?"  Dean's brow furrowed as he pulled on a pair of briefs and then walked over to his closet, opening it with a pensive hum.  "Oh, and all the goods bits are covered up, you can look now."

Rolling over languidly, he took him in, filing the sight that of that pert ass away for future use.  "Basic window paneling, shaded fence, easy street access.  It's not a difficult break in."

Frowning as he turned to face him, a shirt and hanger in hand, he canted his head slightly.  "Are you saying my house isn't safe?"

"Only if someone wanted to get in."  He said, propping himself up on an elbow, a small smile on his face, wanting to take Dean's frown away.  "Don't worry, I'll put in a good word with the town’s thief."

“Thanks,” he said, giving him a dry look as he placed the hanger back on the wrack, pulling the shirt on over his head-- a bright green color that had block letters scrawled across it, spelling 'TOBUSCUS'.   “But seriously, should I look into an alarm system?  I don't want Sammy getting hurt.”

"Any thief worth their skill can get past one.  Don't bother, not worth the expense or the hassle half the time."  He replied, a little disappointed when Dean pulled on a shirt, tilting his head at the vivid lettering.  _What on earth is a Tobuscus?_   It sounded mildly contagious.

Dean looked like he didn't like that answer, nose wrinkling briefly as he moved back over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of well-worn jeans.  “So what you're saying is: if someone wants in my house, they'll find a way in.”

"That's sort of the point of a break in."  Castiel told him, sitting up as he dressed, taking a moment to appreciate his friend.  "I'm sure you could fight them off."

“Cas,” he laughed softly, shaking his head.  “I don't want to have to fight anyone off.”

Cas shrugged, "Might have to one day.  Could you?"

“If I had to,” he hesitated, thinking of all the times John had struck him, of the beatings he'd taken in practices, of that time he knocked a kid out for bullying Sammy when they were in primary school.  “Yeah.  I could.”

Nodding slowly, Castiel stood up, not quite sure he wanted to know what kind of thoughts made Dean hesitate like that.  "Good.  You never know when you'll need it."

Grinning, he pulled his pants over his hips and buttoned the fly with deft fingers.  “That a threat?  Cuz I gotta say, Cas, I think I could take you down.”

"I doubt that.  No offence, but I have more practice."  He said, confident he could floor Dean before he had time to bat his pretty eyes.

“Maybe,” Dean conceded, smirk never leaving his face.  “I'd like to see you try.”

"Is that a challenge, Winchester?"  He asked, straightening out to stand  before him, guard rising despite the playful glint in his eyes.

"Might be," he nodded, but didn't move from his relaxed stature, shoulders slumped slightly so that he appeared just a hair shorter than Castiel.  "Would you accept it if it was?"

"Yes."  He said simply, taking him in with a watchful gaze-- taking apart his body, the way he would move if they did fight.

Humming contemplatively, Dean drew closer-- slow and disarming in his movements-- until there was hardly a foot of space between them.  "Maybe I'll have to take you up on that."

"Is that wise?  I've fought off people much bigger than you before."  Cas said, no boast in his tone, only fact.

"You won't hurt me," he replied confidently-- it might of seemed like it was a cocky statement, but it wasn't.  It was faith that Cas wouldn't harm him if they ever decided to tussle it out.  He knew he was in safe hands.  "I trust you."

"Much.  I won't hurt you much."  Castiel clarified, knowing that even play fights ended in bruises.  "But no.  I wouldn't."  He admitted, the trust between them unlike anything he'd had for anyone else.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, seeing the honesty written across his earnest features.  It was one thing to believe that someone wouldn't do you harm, and another to hear it said out loud by them.  It made something in him swell with affection, with satisfaction, and his grin softened into a small smile.  Gaze locked with Cas', he let himself get lost for a moment in those blue eyes, a blue so blue he felt like he had to break to let it all in.

Dean was tempted to reach out, to comb his fingers through that-- truly unfair-- mess of sex hair, and his hand twitched at his side as he stamped down the urge.  He wondered, if he would only ask, if Castiel would try and kiss him again.  Wondered what it would feel like to really have those lips slant over his.  To have the breath kissed out of him.

"We should get going," Dean said absently, not really wanting to break the bubble they were in, voice low as if speaking too loud would ruin everything.

Cas hardly heard him, too wrapt up in the moment they shared, cut off from everything else.  Only the steady gaze between them, affectionate in ways he only just managed to grasp.  After a long moment, he looked away, though he didn't move any further back, nearly leaning in and kissing away the reminder, having to clench a fist to keep from closing the distance.

"Yes.  We probably should."

As if coming back to himself, Dean inhaled sharply and took a small step back, certain that he was crossing some kind of boundary.  "Let's go then.  The night is young and so are we."

Nodding quickly, Castiel shook himself off, shaking his head as though to clear it.  "At least I don't have to sneak out too."  He said, trying to remove the tension that had settled over them.

Dean scoffed.  "Please.  My dad hasn't been aware enough to catch me sneaking off since I was ten.  Besides, he's not home and neither is Sam.  No sneaking needed."  He said, walking over to the hanging hook by the jam to grab his leather coat, slipping it on before he opened his door, pausing to glance over at him with a teasing smile.  "Which means that if we'd stayed in, we would've had the place to ourselves.  Plenty of time to see who could take who, and with no interruptions.  Too bad."

There was plenty of room for interpretation, and Cas smirked at the double meaning.  "Generally, I don't lose.  But I'm sure you'd be a worthy opponent."  He said evenly, following Dean out.

“I’m sure you would be too.”

* * *

 

"--oh, my god, _no_."  Dean sighed, voice raised above the noise in the bar, leaning against his pool cue.  "We've talked about this, Cas.  I'm not interested in college. 

Castiel gave a long sigh, leather clad body leant against the wall as he gave Dean a pointed look.  "Well you should be, smart guy like you would do fine in college."  He countered.

"I'm not _smart_ ," he muttered, scanning the table before he pushed fully onto his feet, moving to bend awkwardly and missing the ball for the umpteenth time.  "College is for people who are going places.  Who could _be_ someone, Cas.  That's just not me."  Pulling back, he frowned down at the cue ball, as if it were its fault he was sucking so bad.  "You'll do great at University.  I won't."

"Yes, you _will._ You show me every time we sit down for tutoring."  Cas hissed, moving up to him, annoyance rising.  _Why couldn't Dean see his talent for this?_   "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, so use it!  Go to college, and do something better than fixing radiators on beat up old cars."

"What if I _want_ to spend the rest of my life fixing radiators on beat up old cars?"  He replied defensively, gesturing to the table for his turn.  It wasn't true.  He enjoyed working on cars, yes, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his days under the hood of one.  He honestly didn't know what he wanted, had never given it much thought because he knew it would just be another unattainable goal he'd disappoint people failing to reach.

"But you don't!"  Castiel snapped, picking up his cue stick to take his shot, using the sharp strike of the ball to take out some of his frustration, almost sending in bouncing off the table.  "I know you don't."

"Then _please_ , oh, great all-knowing one, _tell me_ what it is I want to do with my life."  He retorted, watching as a striped ball fell into the corner pocket, and letting out a frustrated sound as he realized he was losing.  Again.  "Wait, no, let me guess.  Go to college and _make_ something of myself.  Cas, I'm not gonna get in anywhere, let alone afford it or make it through the classes."

Turning a glare on him, Castiel huffed out his irritation.  "It's called a scholarship."  He grit out, hardly paying any attention to the game.  Letting out a long sigh, he let the tension across his shoulders ease.  "Just, look into it...  Please?"

"Yeah, okay, whatever."  He replied, voice soft and almost inaudible over the noise of the crowd around them.  "I'll start looking at stuff or whatever.  Colleges."

"Thank you."  He said, annoyance fading with Dean's tone.

"Yeah, yeah."  He shrugged it off and then gestured to the table.  "Can we just stop before you kick my ass again and start a new round?  Maybe you could _show_ me how to play instead of mocking my struggle?"

"But I like kicking your ass."  Cas teased, appreciating the change of subject, not liking the argument that had been boiling between them.  Dean had some serious self-worth issues.

"No, you just like my ass."  Dean corrected, grinning wryly.  "But seriously, help me out here, I keep missing."

Rolling his eyes, Castiel leant his cue against the wall and folded his arms.  "Take a shot."  He said, "I'll correct you."

"Aye aye, Captain Feathers."  He gave a mock salute, before taking a stiff stance at the edge of the table, lining up his shot, and then just barely clipping a ball he wasn't even aiming for.

Cas gave a soft sigh, moving to stand next to him, a little too close, though the situation demanded it.  "Relax.  It’s a cue ball, not a demon."  He said.  "Don't look at the end of the cue for your aim, watch the ball, and it will happen."

"Good god, you sound like Mr. Miyagi."  Dean huffed out a laugh, bending to take aim again, but doing the same flub as previous, and missing completely.  "Your advice sucks, Cas."

"My advice is great, your aim sucks."  Cas retorted, standing behind him until they pressed together.  "Relax."  He repeated, tapping at his too tense arm.  "This one’s only a guide, all the effort is in the other arm."  He said, painfully aware of how close they stood.

Shuddering faintly as Cas’ baritone muttered far too close to his ear, Dean cleared his throat and forced himself to relax.  He could feel the heat of Castiel's body, the planes of his chest pressed alongside his back, and-- was that a nipple piercing?

Swallowing thickly, he turned his head, "Like this?"

Moulding his body to Dean's as clinically as he could, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand as opposed to the press of their bodies, he moved Dean’s arms a little until he was satisfied.

"Good.  Now take your shot."  Cas said, pulling away so as not to obstruct him.

Letting out a small breath, Dean was simultaneously relieved and regretful that Castiel pulled away.   Focusing on the task at hand, he sank his shot with little finesse and plastered on a triumphant smile.  "Hey!  Would you look at that."

Smiling at him, Castiel nodded his approval.  "See, you're not that terrible.  Again, this time, without my help."

Bending back over the table, he set up another shot and just barely missed the side pocket.  Huffing, he stood straight and glanced over at him.  "Show me again?"

Casting a less than discreet glance at his ass, Cas sighed softly as he missed.  " _Relax_."  He said again, pressing a hand to the middle of his back.  "You're skewing the shot."  He explained, moving up behind him again, repositioning his arms, and the angle at which he stood.

"I am relaxed," he groused, easing back against him, liking the way their bodies pressed together far too much to be normal.  He let hands brush over his arms, guiding him into the right position, and gasped faintly as his feet were knocked apart just slightly.

"No, you're not."  Cas said calmly, brushing a hand over Dean's shoulders, dropping them to rid the tension holding them too tight to ever get a decent shot.

"I'm not?"  Dean asked teasingly, though there was the vaguest waver as he let Castiel coax his body into going lax.

"I can feel it from here."  Cas deadpanned, voice a little strained with the effort it took to keep himself in check.  Satisfied that he couldn't do much else to make Dean relax, he pulled away again.  "Go on."

With an easy movement, he hit the cue ball and watched as it clattered into a another, making another shot.  Barely pausing to shift, he lined up for another shot and sank that one too.  Straightening out, he beamed over at Castiel, smiling.  "I'm getting better already.  Wanna try for a game?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes in mild suspicion as Dean sank the shot, a little wary.  Generally, one didn't improve that fast, even with his tutoring.  "Sure."  He said, confident his friend wouldn't do anything too sneaky.

"Wanna put money on it?"  He asked, setting up the table for the next round.  "Raise the stakes?"

"How much are we talking?"  Cas asked, "I don't exactly have thousands to throw around."

"Like twenty, Cas."  He laughed, leaning against his pool cue.  "Nothing crazy.  I'm not exactly rolling in the dough, either."

"Done."  He replied, picking up his own cue.  "Though I warn you, I've been doing this for quite a while."

Laying his cash on the table, Dean hummed, circling around the other side as he gestured for Cas to make the first move.  "Go ahead then.  School me."

Digging his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, Cas laid his money out and moved to take his shot.

Dean watched as he broke, and winced in sympathy when none of the balls went in.  "Too bad," he muttered and then moved to take his own shot.  Bending over with far too much grace, all earlier clumsiness gone, he hit the cue ball and sank a stripe into the corner pocket.  Grinning to himself, he moved around the table, purposefully brushing against Castiel on his way past, he bent again and managed another before he paused to glance up at Castiel coyly. 

Cursing softly, Cas sent a glare Dean's way, knowing exactly what was happening.  "You son of a bitch."  He grumbled.  So much for needing help.  A slow, deliberate smirk curled his lips.  "Y'know, if you didn't need my help, why'd you make me teach you?  Anyone would think you just liked shoving your ass at me."

"It's a distinct possibility," he muttered, blushing faintly as he made another shot, the smirk on Cas' face making his stomach twist.  "Or maybe they'd think I just liked being pressed up against you."

"It’s certainly possible."  Cas said evenly, noting his flush with a flare of satisfaction.  Leaning on the table, he stretched a little, deciding a distraction was no longer off the cards considering Dean's cheat.

Letting his eyes follow the line of Castiel's body in subtle admiration, Dean sank another shot, and then missed the one after that.  Standing up straight, he turned and faced him, leaning back against the edge of the table as he met his gaze.  "Speaking of being pressed up against you-- a nipple piercing?  Really?"

"Two, actually."  Cas replied, uncaring about the mild judgement he heard.  "You seem surprised?"  He added, moving off the table to pick up his cue.  Taking a shot, he cursed softly when a striped ball missed the pocket by a quarter inch.

"Not surprised," he said, watching as Cas missed and smiling, staying relaxed against the table as Castiel circled back to stand in front of him.  "Just commenting.  Did they hurt?"

"Oh no, not at all.  A spike of metal through my nipple.  Painless."  Cas said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Aw, poor baby."  Dean mocked.  "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Left one preferably."  Cas replied, going along with his tease.  "Can't feel the other one."

Blinking rapidly, his gaze strayed down to his chest and back up, reaching out instinctively.  "Wait, seriously?"

"Hm.  Side effect apparently.  The whole thing about nipple piercings being more sensitive is true, but they can also numb them."  He explained, watching him reach out a little warily.

His hand faltered mid-air, and he frowned.  "Well that's gotta suck."  He dropped his hand back to his side.  "Kinky fun with one side and none with the other."

"Suck is the right word, yes."  Cas smirked, a little disappointed Dean’s didn't keep going.  "Half the fun's in seeing people's reaction."

"I'm sure suck is the perfect word," he added, returning the look, eyes dark as he drummed his fingers against the wood of the pool table, resisting the urge to reach out and tug Cas close by the belt loops.

Castiel had near forgotten they were playing a game of pool, meeting the dark look in Dean's eyes evenly, licking his lips slowly.  It wasn't fair, how much he wanted to lean in.  But he couldn't, not to Dean.

Eyes drawing down to his mouth, his gaze flicked back up, and Dean grinned wryly.  "You still want me to kiss it better?"

Smirking at him, Castiel tilted his head.  "Is that an offer?"

"Could be," he shrugged, attempting to appear innocent and failing miserably.  "If it is, are you gonna take me up on it?"

Swallowing thickly, Cas took a step forward, praying his courage didn't fail him now.  "Yes, I would."

Dean's heart stammered and his eyes grew dark, hyper aware of the space depleting between them.  His mind was flooded with images of stripping Castiel's shirt over his head, revealing the skin beneath, and seeing those piercings for himself.  There was a strong throb of want, and he laughed softly, shaking his head.  "Man, we have _got_ to work on this tension thing, Cas."

"We should."  Castiel agreed, not moving away, watching him intently, letting his imagination run wild with ideas that he usually never let see the light of day, briefly wondering if Dean was as flexible as he looked.  "Either we stop, or we resolve it."  _Can we just kiss already?_

"And how do you suggest we go about resolving it if we decide not to stop?"  He asked, voice dropping to something warm and inviting.

Pondering his words for a moment, a smile curled Castiel's lips, hearing the familiar pulse of music in the background.  "Dance with me.  If nothing happens, I'll drop the subject altogether, and we'll have no more tension."

"Yeah," he hesitated only for a moment to grab their money off the table before pushing off the edge, pressing more into Castiel's space, as if waiting for him to make a move.  "Yeah, okay.  Let's dance."

Smiling at him, Cas took his hand, tugging him towards the smattering of people on the dance floor.  He could have sworn he heard a familiar cackle from behind the bar, though his brother was nowhere to be found upon turning around.

Pulling him in, Cas offered a smirk, beginning to move ever so slightly to the beat of  _Mannish Boy_ , Muddy Waters’ voice crooning into the crowd, sinuous and practiced.

Dean smiled, chuckling softly as Cas reeled him in on the dance floor, gaze light and bemused as they stopped mere inches from one another.  Dean swayed slightly, catching the beat, watching as his friend moved with familiar ease with a hint of envy and a dash of lust.  Keeping the miniscule amount of space between them, a respectful distance, Dean gasped and stumbled forward as someone ran into him from behind; Dean stumbled and pressed flush against Cas’ chest, swallowing thickly, one hand at his bicep and the other slipping under his jacket to press to the ladder of Castiel's ribs.

Adapting to the lack of space, Cas pressed a hand to Dean's hip, guiding and encouraging as he moved, unabashedly sliding against him.  He could do this; he _would_ do this.

Stomach dropping, Dean allowed himself to be moved, skin burning pleasantly where Cas had laid his hand.  His fingers tightened at his arm, hips rolling in time with the beat of a familiar blues medley-- Waters' raspy voice filling the air, and Dean found himself pressing closer, their knees bumping until their legs slotted together as the hand at Castiel's side curled into the fabric of his shirt.  Meeting his gaze, Dean offered up a small smile, as if telling Cas that it was okay and at the same time asking if what he was doing was alright too.

Pressing up close-- partially to avoid the other people, but mostly because he enjoyed the heat shared between them-- Cas nodded his approval, the hand at his hip squeezing faintly as they moved together; inappropriate, but overly satisfying.

"Do this often?"  Cas asked, voice low to avoid being overheard, moving in perfect time to the music.

"No," he confessed, almost self-consciously.  They were surrounded by people, an even rhythm pumping through the bar that their hips were swaying to, others dancing around them.  But Dean felt like it was just the two of them, so close they were all but sharing the same breath, staring intently at one another as they moved.  "Do you?"

"How do you think I steal things?"  He said, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed Dean's ear.

"By asking them for their wallets politely?"  He said drolly, shuddering as breath ghosted by, warm with the promise of soft lips; his fingers tightened in the cotton material at his side, bunching up the fabric as hips moved against his.  "So am I another target?  Planning on picking my pocket tonight?"

"Oh, I'd never choose to dance with you."  Cas told him, half tempted to see if the skin beneath his ear was as tasty as it looked.  "I go for people who don't have anyone else, who get left behind.  Easier to fool."

"So you do this often?  This isn't new?"  He asked, turning his head slightly, mouth just barely brushing right in front of his ear.

"I dance all the time, but not quite like this."  Cas admitted, letting the hand at his hip move to rest at his lower back.  "This is more personal."

"Good personal or bad personal?"  His breath hitched faintly, and he let his own hand slide up over his shoulder to curl around the back of his neck, the other still tight in his shirt.

"Good."  Cas told him, a little hesitantly.  Tipping his head, he brushed his lips over the shell of his ear, inhaling sharply as he resisted the urge to just kiss him already and get it over with.

"Good," he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, their noses bumping.  "Me too."

The brush of their noses sent a thrill through Cas, nearly freezing as they stared at each other, hardly a breath between them. Dean didn't know what to say, or what else to do, breathing shakily and then not at all.

Just as Cas was leaning in, tired of dancing around each other, of pretending there wasn't something there, Dean was jolted as someone hit his back again.  Their foreheads knocked together, and Dean jerked back with a hiss, rubbing at the sore spot.  A hand landed on his shoulder, and Dean turned around to meet a familiar face.

"I'm sorry, man, two left feet over-- Winchester?"  Jake smiled, a clash of white teeth and dark skin.  "Hey, man, what's up?"

The curses that ran through Castiel's mind were filthy even for him, glaring steadily at their interruption, vaguely recognizing him as one of Dean's teammates.  Letting him go, Cas kept quiet save for the few expletives he muttered under his breath.  They were so close.  Enough to finally do something about the dance they'd been doing around each other for weeks.  Any doubts he had about Dean's feelings were quashed, there was no way that was imagined or misinterpreted.

"I, uh--"  Dean stammered, flushing a deep red, and Jake peered over at Castiel, understanding dawning.  "I was just--"

There was a flash of something like distaste before he was smiling weakly at him, giving his shoulder a friendly nudge.  "Didn't mean to interrupt, bro.  Don't stay up too late, we've got that scrimmage tomorrow."

"Yeah.  Yeah, thanks."  He nodded, returning the look as Jake seeped back into the crowd, and there was a sense of awareness that curled in him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up when he realized Castiel was right behind him.  When he realized that they had nearly kissed, nearly crossed that unspoken boundary between friendship and more, fear knotted in him and he turned back around.  Clearing his throat, he managed to look everywhere but his eyes.  "Sorry about that."

Castiel watched Jake leave, glaring at their interruption heatedly until he vanished into the crowd.  Turning back to Dean, he gave him a hopeful look, wishing they could just forget all about Jake and go back to dancing.  Swallowing thickly, Cas reached out for him, fingers brushing in silent ask.

Hand flexing, Dean reluctantly threaded their fingers together loosely.  Shuffling a bit closer, he met Castiel's gaze regretfully.  "He's right.  Practice is early tomorrow."

Cas couldn't help but feel disappointed, giving Dean's hand a quick squeeze before letting go, still retaining some of the warmth from his skin.  "Guess I'll see you on Monday then."  He said quietly, gripping into the leather of his jacket to avoid leaning in and kissing him when Dean obviously wanted to leave.

Dean nodded slowly, looking as though he wanted to finish what they’d started, but he took one step back and then another.  “I’ll see you on Monday.”  And then he was leaving, threading back through the crowd, a heavy weight in his gut. 

Castiel went home angry that night, frustrated about just how close they'd gotten, about ill timed interruptions and the definition of friends.

* * *

 

The second his brother walked through the door, Gabriel knew something wasn't right; the tension across his shoulders, and the near petulant look on his face tipping him to what would probably be another round of boy troubles.

"Alright, what did he do now?"

If questioned later, Castiel would deny pouting completely, throwing himself onto the couch in a state of utter frustration, limbs splayed haphazardly.

"We were this close!"  He complained, placing his thumb and forefinger about a half inch apart to illustrate.  "Literally _that_ close, and then some idiot interrupted." 

Gabriel winced in sympathy, patting the leg currently hooked over the back of the couch.  “He’ll come ‘round sooner or later.”

His sympathies were met with a flat look from the younger of the pair.  “I’m sick of waiting.  I _had_ him, Gabriel.  Right there.  And I lost him.”

“You didn’t _lose_ him, moron.  It just didn’t happen.  Patience.”

“Like you can talk about patience.”

“Older, wiser, smarter, little bro.”  Gabriel reminded, pushing Castiel’s legs off the couch so he could sit down only to have them settle in his lap, a nearly obnoxious smile in Castiel’s face as he dug his heels almost painfully into his brothers thighs, Gabe squirmed, shoving his feet away again.

“Wiser my ass.”  Cas snorted, glad for the banter, distracting him enough to keep his mind from complete infatuation with Dean, though it did seem to be running away on him again.  “Older, definitely.”

“And I don’t look a day over three billion.”  Gabriel retorted, “But seriously, Cas.  It’ll happen, just be patient, he doesn’t look like the type to fall easy.”  He added, tone softening somewhat, trying to offer some reassurance to his little brother.

“You think so?”  Castiel asked, looking over at him, almost vulnerable.

“I know so.  Love will find a way.” Gabriel replied, a grin creeping over his lips as he noted the little shift in his brothers expression, hopeful again, knowing he could return to his usual banter when he was met with the usual eye roll.  “What, too corny?”

“Even for _you_ that was bad.”

Gabe let out a soft snort, fishing around the clutter of a side table to pick up the television remote, flicking to some mindless reality show about screaming sports moms.

* * *

 

On Saturday morning, Dean didn’t want to get out of bed.  In fact, he stayed buried under the sheets for a good fifteen minutes after he’d woken up, staring at his ceiling and thinking about how close he’d been to kissing Castiel last night.  The way they’d been so tangled up with one another, pressed so perfectly, breathing the same breath.  The knowledge that the attraction was mutual; they both wanted _something_ , and it seemed like they wanted the same something. 

Dean would have enjoyed kissing Cas.  He would have enjoyed it very much.

Finally managing to coax himself out from under the blanket, he pulled his gear on with tired familiarity.  Shorts, jersey, shin guards, and socks.  He would wait, as he usually did, to put his cleats on at the field.  Partly because he didn’t want to risk getting mud and muck in his baby when he could easily avoid it, but mostly because he’d grown out of those shoes his Freshman year, and they were too tight on his feet.  He couldn’t afford new ones, not if he wanted to pay the deposit for the swim team.

Trodding down the stairs, he didn’t bother being quiet, knowing that Sam would still be over at Andy’s until later that afternoon.  Darting into the kitchen, he snatch up his cell phone and his keys, jumping when he heard the fridge door snap shut.  Turning, he saw John there, looking like he’d just rolled in from the nearest pub.

“Dad,” he breathed, ignoring the way his heart had been stuttering in his chest, half expecting it to be Cas breaking in just for kicks.  “What’s up?”

John scrubbed his hands through his hair; Dean could smell to booze on him from across the room.  “Where’re you goin’, Dean-o?”

“Soccer practice, dad.”  He replied, inching closer.  “Are you--?”

“Soccer practice,” John snorted, giving Dean a hazy look.  “When I was in high school, real men played football.”

Dean winced, but his father didn’t notice as he started to stumble his way out of the kitchen and up to his bedroom.  “Our football team sucks, dad.”

John paused, glancing his way, brow furrowed as it he were confused by Dean’s statement.  “Thas cuz you’re not on it, kid.”

Smiling to himself as John continued his precarious trek up the stairs, Dean felt something in him warm.  He knew a compliment when he heard it, even if it was originally just an underhanded insult about the sport he _did_ enjoy playing.  It wasn’t often John praised him.

Savoring the moment for a second longer, he gathered up his things and headed for the door, not wanting to be late for practice.  The drive was short, but by the time he got there, most of the guys were out on the grass already.  Jogging over, he beamed at his buddy Ash, who’d recently been bumped up onto varsity level, and took his place in the circle as they gathered around their coach.  Looked like he’d just made it in time.

“Alright,” Coach Roman clapped his hands together-- as his namesake might hint, he was a bit of a dick, but one that knew how to win and how to use his players to the best advantage.  “Listen up, ladies.  We’ve got a bit of a day ahead of us, but I’m not gonna keep you here too long because I’d like to spend my Saturday doing something I actually like.  I want you to warm up, and then get into the positions we practiced on Friday.  Same drills, but do them faster.  Do them better.  Understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sir’s echoed around the ring, and then he was dismissing them to run around the field. 

Usually, Dean liked to take point.  He was fast, and everyone knew it.  Today, though, Dean was perfectly fine with letting some of the other guys lead.  He was too busy, off in his own world, and too tired to really care.  He’d save his energy for their drills. 

Smiling to himself as he thought of Cas, he almost didn’t notice Adam Milligan nudging into his side as they ran.  “What’s up, man?  You off in dreamland?”

“Uh, yeah.”  He huffed, already panting a little bit, warming up even in the early morning cool.  “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.”  Adam smirked, and Dean found he didn’t like that look at all.  “Was he good?”

“ _What_?”

“Castiel Novak.”  Adam supplied, giving him a knowing glance even though he didn’t know anything at all.  “I’ve heard all the Novak’s are great in the sack.”

Dean felt a spike of anger flare in him, and he pointedly looked ahead, turning with the group as they rounded another corner.  “I wouldn’t know.”

“ _Sure_ you would.”  Adam scoffed, keeping up with Dean as he tried to increase his pace.  “Come on, man.  Don’t bother denying it.  Jake saw you all over him last night at The Shifter, and the _talk_ going around the school-- man, oh, man.”

“Talk?”  He asked, voice cracking slightly.  _What talk_?

Adam shrugged, keeping his voice low so that only Dean could hear him.  “You know, chatter.  Rumors.  About you and him _dating_.  Which is funny because you’re not dating him.  Sleeping with him, maybe--”

“I’m _not_ sleeping with him.”

“Easy, Dean.”  Adam chuckled.  “No need to get all defensive.  I don’t care if you’re gay.”

“I don’t _care_ if you care that I’m gay,” he snapped with a hiss.  Sexuality was something he was very comfortable with-- especially his own.  Guys were hot and girls were too. 

“Listen, all I’m saying is that it’s funny that everyone is starting to think you’re dating.”  Adam pressed, ignoring the comment.  “Because, even as the black sheep of the Novak family, none of them would ever date _you_.  You may be a pretty face, Dean, and I’m sure you can spread your legs with the best of them-- but there’s really nothing else to you.  That’s why it’s funny.”

Dean tripped and stumbled for a second on a gopher hole, ankle protesting sharply as something almost painful and heavy weighed in his guts at the words.  At his tone.  At the absolute disdain Adam seemed to have for him.  Smirking, Adam winked and kept on running as the rest of the team blew by where Dean had faltered.

“Winchester!”  Coach Roman called from across the field, snapping Dean back into action.  “Get your ass moving!”

* * *

 

Practice Saturday had been stilted at best.  After the conversation with Adam, he’d received a few teasing remarks from some of the other players, all of it just adding to the sudden inadequacy he felt.  It threw him off of his game, and he’d ended up messing up more times than he had succeeded.  A bit like his life honestly.  And it seemed that the rest of his weekend steadily progressed downhill from there.

One of their bills were overdue, and the electric had been cut off long enough for their milk to spoil.  Sam had had some huge fight with his best friend, and had cried to Dean for hours about it.  And though John was home, he was drunk and in hiding, recluced up in his bedroom while Dean had to deal with everything else. 

It wasn’t until Sunday evening that Dean finally got to sit down do his homework, relax a little bit, and go through some brochures he’d picked up from the library-- universities, small and large, local and out of state.  He was slumped on the couch, flipping through them idly, each one looking more interesting than the next, when his dad came seeping down the stairs, a bit cleaner than expected. 

“What’re those?”  He asked, coming over to lean over the arm of the couch, peering down at the papers he had in his hands and strewn across the coffee table. 

“Um... college pamphlets.”

“College?”  John scoffed, scrubbing his hand none too gently through Dean’s hair.  “My kid going to college?  Unlikely, Dean-o.  Unless you got those for Sammy.

Gritting his teeth, he glared up at him.  “I got them for me.”

“Dean,” John grimaced, already shaking his head, already disapproving.  “I don’t--”

“No.  _No_.  I can do this.”  Dean insisted, standing, bright eyes and hopeful as he shoved brochures at his father.  “There are _so_ many options, and I can apply to a bunch and see who’ll accept me.”

“And when you get in?  Who’s gonna pay for that, Dean?”

“I am.”  He stated because he knew no one else would.  “I am and- and there are scholarships I can apply for and--”

“Dean,” John snapped, and his son fell silent, already looking crestfallen.  “You don’t honestly believe you can do this, can you?  I talked to your brother, found out you were failin’ your classes.  I’m so-- I can’t even tell you how disappointed I am in you.  Flunking out of school--”

“I’m not--”

“You really think college is gonna be any better for you?  You can barely handle it now!  You’re practically _useless_ and you want to go to _college_?  Where you’ll waste time and money and you’ll _fail_?”  John growled, and Dean felt something in him break a little bit.  “No.  Throw them away.  You don’t need them.”

Watching as his father turned and walked away, he sank heavily back down onto the couch, mind numb and body aching.  His dad was right.  He was a failure.

* * *

 

There was a certain air of hopeful excitement just beneath Castiel's skin as he strode through the halls, hardly perceptible, yet tangible enough to cause the people around him to stare, mutter to each other.  For Cas to smile genuinely was rare, let alone beam sappily at the couple greeting each other at the front gate because maybe, just maybe --if everything went well-- he'd have that before the month was out. 

He arrived at the library for their tutoring session on time for once, books splayed out over the table.

After ten minutes he got a little impatient, fiddling restlessly with the cuff of his jacket.  After half an hour, he got worried, sending out a few text messages, just in case. 

After an hour he knew something wasn’t quite right.  It didn’t take him long to track down the one person he trusted enough to question on Dean’s whereabouts; Meg’s place never was hard to get into, and it was right down the street from the school, though she was less than hospitable when he started hurling questions.

He searched Dean out, nearly yanking Meg's arm off when she wouldn't tell him where he'd went.

Brow furrowed, he left a slightly amused looking Meg behind, taking off towards the fields.  Dean had a scrim-something or other, and therefore should be at practice.  By the time Cas got there, he was panting, having run all the way back from Meg’s house to the school, bowling over a passerby or two in the process.

 

 

Practice hadn't been much better than Saturday's.  The teasing had been just as bad, and Adam had been even more vicious.  In all honesty, he was being an ass about the whole thing, and it was kind of ridiculous.

Dean felt guilty, for avoiding Castiel and for skipping his tutor session with him.  But his self-loathing was greater than the guilt.  He didn't want to see the one person who believed in him when he knew that he wasn't worth believing in.

The locker room was sparse, hardly anyone left in it aside from Ash and himself, and Dean was toweling off his hair, jeans slung low on his hips and unbuttoned when Castiel came barging in.  Startled, he looked over with wide eyes, panic settling low in his gut.  "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I waited for you at the library for an hour, and you didn't turn up.  Meg said you'd be here."  He said, looking over at him.

"I had practice," he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, turning back to his locker.  "Now if you don't mind, I need to finish getting changed and then I'm going home."

Any hope Cas had left drained away.  There was nothing here for him after all.  "We had a session, and you didn't turn up.  Why not?"

"Yeah, Deanie."  Chet cackled, poking his head around the corner.  "You had a session.  Why weren't you--?"

Ash sighed, punching Dean's shoulder as he moved away, dragging their defender out by the ear.  "This is a conversation that requires two people, Chet.  Let's let the grown ups work it out."

Waiting until he heard the distinct sound of the door shutting, Dean let out a long breath, heavy and dark.  He didn't want to do this, didn't want to deal with this.  There was a bone-deep sorrow in him, that what he had hoped for would never be, hadn't ever had a chance.  Because Dean wasn't worth it.  He wouldn't ever be worth it. 

Schooling his features from the broken look Dean had been wearing all day, he turned to face him.  "I told you, I had practice, Cas."

Cas caught the way his face changed, watched as Dean became more guarded, and his brow furrowed.  Maybe Dean had realised what he was doing and deemed it inappropriate.  Maybe Cas didn't have a friend anymore.  "But you should have told me.  You would have told me-- when you got back on the team.  In fact, you said we would still keep the sessions on Mondays."                                        

"I'm sorry," he shrugged, trying to look as uncaring as possible, something sharp twisting in him.  "I know we talked about keeping the whole tutoring thing going, but it's just not gonna work out.  I guess it slipped my mind.  I really don't need it anymore anyway."

It was like all the air was knocked out of him, any purpose Cas had held gone because he couldn't keep himself under control.  He peered at him for a moment, searching for some kind of lie, having to clench a fist to keep from getting emotional when there wasn't one.  "Did you at least look into colleges like you said?" 

"No," he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.  "No, Cas.  I didn't.  And I'm not going to.  There's no point."

"Why not?"  He demanded, brow furrowing.  "You said you would.  There's no reason not to."

Laughing bitterly, he shook his head, holding his hands out helplessly for a moment.  "There's every reason not to."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, glaring at him, at the bitterness there.  "Something happened, didn't it?"

"No, nothing happened."  He glanced down, frowning, arms crossing defensively over his chest. 

Noting the defense in his gesture, Castiel moved closer, peering at him curiously.  "Liar."  He accused.

Looking up, Dean met his gaze, vulnerable for a brief moment before it turned angry.  "What the fuck do you want me to say?  I'm not going to college, Cas.  Hell, I'm not even gonna graduate high school-- I'm not going to amount to _anything_.  Not ever.  So _stop_.  _Pushing_."

Cas saw the helplessness there, knowing he could find it again with the right prompting.  Moving to stand directly in front of him, unwavering as he stared.  "No.  You deserve _better_ than this, and if you can't see it, I'll make you."

"Jesus _christ--_ back off, Cas!  I don't-- I don't _deserve_ anything."  He snapped, eyes dark.  "You don't _know_ anything.  I don't know what you _think_ you see in me, but _it's not there_!"

"This is _not_ you speaking."  Cas retorted, "Not three days ago you said you would.  Why the change?"

"Because we both know what's going to happen," he echoed his father's words from the night before, like poison at the back of his mind.  "Even if I get into college, I'll never finish.  It'll be a waste of time and a waste of money.  The only one going anywhere is Sam.  So why bother?"

He narrowed his eyes, advancing on him to glower in disapproval.  "You're afraid, aren't you."  He accused, "You're afraid, and you won't face it just in case you fail.  You're a coward."

"I am not a coward," his voice broke, and he took a step back, feeling cornered.

"Yes, you are.  You're afraid of failing, and you won't get off your ass and get over it because you're a coward."  He spat.

"I'm not a coward," he hissed, getting into Castiel's face, heart stammering because it was true.  It was absolutely true.  And he was angry and scared, so he lashed out in the only way he could.  "A coward is someone taking the easy way out.  A _coward_ is taking your own life instead manning the fuck up and facing your own family.  I am _not_ a coward!"

Vaguely breathless, Dean glared at him, realization slow to take hold.  The second the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, and he stepped back to press against the cool of the lockers, eyes wide and apologetic. 

Castiel stalled for a millisecond, process who he meant, each word cutting deep.  With strength borne of fury, he slammed Dean up against the locker.  A stormy kind of rage shook within him, pinning him like a butterfly to a cork board.

"You do not talk about her that way, do you understand me."  He growled, uncontrolled malice in his voice, the kind that promised painful ends.

"Yes," Dean breathed, voice shaking, hating that he was the one who had put that expression on Castiel's face.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't-- I'm sorry."

Letting him drop from the lockers, Cas moved back, shaking with the effort not to punch him, because god knows he deserved it for bringing his sister into this.  "That's your problem, isn't it? You just don't take any chances, you just follow along meekly with what life is giving you, and you won't dare try for anything else."

"That-- that's not--"  He tried to argue, but most of the fight had been knocked out of him and replaced with something a lot like resignation.  "It doesn't matter!  Don't you get it?  Wanting something and deserving it are two completely different things.  Why would I take a chance on something I don't deserve?  I'm not worth it-- I'm not worth _anything_!  No matter _how much_ I may want something."

"That's why you're a coward, right there!  Because you won't go after what you want.  Because you're _scared_."  He growled, tone vehement as he advanced on him.  "So you accept your shitty life as it is-- with your drunk father who hits you, with your little brother who won't need you much longer, with your dead mother-- and you don't go after what you want because that's all you think you should get out of life.  But you deserve so much more.  If you would only go after it!  What do you want, Dean?  What do you _want_?"

_College.  Sam to be happy.  My dad to be sober.  My mom to be alive again.  You._

"Everything," Dean confessed helplessly.

"Everything?"  Cas said, tone softening somewhat.  "That doesn't narrow it down to much.  What exactly does 'everything' encompass?"

"I... I want..."  He was at a loss for words, unable to tell him what he wanted, his feelings catching in his throat as he shook his head.  "I can't.  I can't say it."

"Don't give me that shit!  Yes, you can, now what the fuck do you want out of life!"  He demanded, patience running thin.

"Everything!"  Dean snapped back, glaring at him as walls came tumbling down, words spilling forth before he could stop them.  "I want Sam to grow up and go to a great school and do something amazing because I know he can do it.  I want my mom back.  I want my dad to stop being a _complete_ ass and take care of his own goddamn kids.  I want-- I want all the puppies in the world to have a good home.  World peace, I don’t know!  I _want_ to go to college and have a chance at a life better than this, but you know what?  A lot of it's never gonna happen.  And I'm just going to be _stuck_ in this shithole town for the _rest_ of my _life._ And that scares the fuck out of me."

Dean was breathless and wide eyed, staring at him, horrified that he'd said any of that.  "And the thing that scares me even more than that?  Is you."

He listened intently as Dean spoke, expression softening to something akin to understanding despite the fact he'd never really know what it was like, and sympathy would just piss him off.  He froze for a second as Dean finished, processing what he meant carefully.

"You won't be stuck here forever, I can promise that."  Cas said, anger fading as fast as it had risen.  "And you don't have to be afraid of me."

"Yes, I do."  He breathed, trying to make him understand, but telling him was like pulling teeth.  "I have _every_ reason to be terrified out of my mind by you, Cas.  ...Because I want you so much it's ridiculous."

Cas gave a soft snort, tilting his head in challenge.  "Then prove me wrong, and take a chance for once in your life."

Leaning forward abruptly, Dean pressed their lips together before he could think of anymore reasons to stop himself.


	9. And I Can’t Help But Notice (You Reflect In This Heart of Mine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everybody!

 

Leaning forward abruptly, Dean pressed their lips together before he could think of anymore reasons to stop himself, unceremonious and quite frankly more clumsy than he would have liked.  It was a simple, lingering kiss-- no real depth, just the slant of their mouths together.  A soft sound of surprise left Castiel despite the fact he'd goaded Dean into this, not expecting him to actually go through with it, not now of all times.  It was clumsier than he'd expected, but Cas blamed the nerves running through them for that.  By the time he'd kicked himself into gear and reacted Dean was pulling away, drawing a disappointed huff out of him, and an apology was already burning at Dean’s tongue.

Noting the look on Dean's face, Cas narrowed his eyes in mild threat.

"Dean Winchester, if you so much as _think_ of apologizing, I will break your nose."

Dean's mouth snapped shut with an audible click, a flush burning at his face and down his neck to his chest, as he stood there.  Waiting.  For the rejection he would undoubtedly receive.

A small smile curled Cas’ lips; reaching out slowly, his fingers brushed Dean's, shuddering minutely with the shiver that ran up his spine.  Leaning in, he closed the distance between them again, kissing Dean with the kind of gentleness that one might use with a skittish colt.  He could have sworn he was angry not five minutes ago.

Inhaling sharply, a shock ran through Dean, more than a little surprised.  Hesitantly, his eyes fluttered shut, and he tilted his head subtly so that their noses weren’t brushing.  Fingers tangling with Cas', his other hand came up to sink into the soft hair at the back of Castiel's head, pressing more insistently.  Humming softly, Castiel pressed up against him, all the tension between them evaporating.  He was kissing Dean, after no fewer than three attempts, he finally got to do this.  And yes, Dean was every bit as good as he looked.

It seemed like as soon as one kiss ended, another began.  Simple presses of their lips, both wanting to push further, but both almost frightened to.  Fingers tightening, Dean let out a breathy sound, lips parting invitingly as they pressed so fully together that their balance was thrown off.  Castiel noticed them tipping, the tangle of their legs doing naught to help keep them upright.  Scrambling to purchase on the metal of the lockers, Cas gripped onto a handle, successfully avoiding what would have been a mood killer.  Curling an arm around Dean, keeping him in place in case he decided running would make a nice ending, Cas pulled back, giving him a goofy looking smile.

Dean's heart stammered, and he stared at Cas unabashedly, taking in his smile with an avid gaze.  Breath hitching, Dean looked at him searchingly, trying to find some kind of deceit, some kind of anything, but was too caught up in the way his mouth was tingling to focus on anything else. 

Not wanting this moment to slip by before he could stop it, before one of them came to their senses, Dean pressed his mouth to Castiel's again.  Almost desperately, his free hand bunched up in the leather of his jacket, and tugged.

The pull on his coat served to spur Cas' hands into movement, fanning out over bared skin, deciding that interrupting locker changes was a good idea-- Cas would go so far as to say a spectacular idea.  Groaning softly, he pressed Dean back into the lockers, hands moving over whatever was within reach, stroking at skin, pent up frustration leaving him.  This was Dean.  _This was Dean_.  The wash of relief was more like a flood, and it jarred Castiel with the intensity of _finally_ getting to touch him the way he wanted.

Back arching, Dean gave a soft hiss as his skin met the cool metal behind him, and pressed into Castiel's touches.  It shook him slightly, being abruptly pushed back and pinned in, but he couldn't be bothered to care as he parted Cas' lips with his own, tongue flicking out tentatively.  It was heated as Dean sank the hand not tangled in Castiel's hair underneath his jacket to pull him impossibly closer; they were practically pawing at each other, all of that sexual tension finally finding its outlet.

Castiel had kissed quite a few people over the short time of his high school career, but not one of them was like Dean.  Settling a hand over his shoulder, he squeezed softly, clinging to him for dear life as they kissed, mind spinning at the sensation wrapped up in it.  After a long moment, Cas had to pull back, needing to breathe again, panting as they stood close.

Almost chasing after his lips, Dean had to bite back a whine as it broke and he realized just how out of breath he was.  Gasping faintly, he let his head fall back against the locker, revealing an expanse of neck, heart racing in his chest.  "What the hell are we doing?"

Taking the tilt of his head as an invitation, Cas lowered his head to brush his lips down his neck, nipping softly in places.

"I believe the term is making out.  Two people generally engage in the practice when romantically involved."  He said flatly, words a little muffled around Dean's skin

His eyes widened as he felt Castiel mouth over his throat, fingers flexing in his hair as he bit back another sound, desperate and needy because this was just what he wanted but he was so fucking scared of it.  "Is that what we are now?  Romantically involved?"

"Would you like to be?"  Cas asked, reluctantly pulling off his neck to look up at him.

"I don't know."  He said earnestly, but there was heart wrenching edge to it as he met his gaze, aware of every place Castiel was touching-- the arm barring him in, the hand splayed at his back, their chests and hips and thighs pressing.  "Do you?"

"I'd like to be, yeah."  He admitted, offering a shaky smile as he brushed a hand over Dean's spine.  "I'd like that a lot."

"I don't want to fuck up something that's already good," he confessed, untangling his fingers from his hair to drift down the back of his neck, touching lightly and affectionately.  "I mean... I want you, but I don't want to end up losing you as a friend when this goes south."

A faint furrow creased his brow, looking at Dean carefully.  "Then it won't go south."  He said, as though it was the most obvious answer.

"You don't know that," he sighed, hand coming around to touch the wrinkle between his eyebrows away.  "You can't know that."

"But I have faith."  He replied, lowering his head again, burying his face into the crook of Dean's neck, enjoying the warmth.

"Enough for the both of us?"  He asked, eyes shutting as he savored the press of their bodies, knowing it was probably going to be the first and last time they were this wrapped up in one another, and needing to hold on for just a moment longer.  "...because I don't."

"Faith for both of us."  Cas agreed, raising his head to look at Dean.  There was no hesitation in his voice, knowing exactly what he wanted and how to get it, in complete trust that everything would turn out just fine.

"I-- I can't, Cas."  He shook his head, expression solemn as he started to withdraw.  "I don't think I can take that risk."

The hopeful look on Cas' face dropped abruptly, knowing a rejection when he heard it.  "We can't ignore this."

"Ignore what?"  He asked, knowing exactly what he meant, the attraction between them.  The feelings they had.  He tried for indifference and failed miserably.

Castiel huffed in frustration when Dean flat out tried to deny it.  "You know exactly what I mean.  We've been dancing around this for weeks, and frankly it’s getting frustrating."

"I'm sorry," he shrugged helplessly.  "I don't know what else you want me to say."

Swallowing thickly, Cas backed away, straightening out his shirt from where Dean had rumpled it.  It never would have worked anyway, they were just too different, too far apart.

"I should be going."

"Cas, don’t--"  He cut himself off, seeing the disappointment he'd caused and feeling it eat at him.  He knew he would do it, he just didn't know it would be so soon.  "Are we gonna be okay?"

 _We were going to be just perfect._   Cas' expression went blank, trying to lessen the sting as much as he could.  "I don't know.  Are we?"

"I want to be," he admitted softly, not moving from where Castiel had pressed him back against the lockers, slightly disheveled, lips freshly kissed.  "I'm sorry for missing tutoring today.  It won't happen again."

He wanted to leave, wanted never to have to see Dean's face again to save himself from the hurt.  But he had duties, and some sick part of him would never let him go, never forget how his lips felt, the way he smiled.

"You still missed it.  Make up the session tomorrow, same time."  He said as emotionlessly as he could.  If they still had to meet, it would be for business purposes only.

"Yeah," he swallowed thickly.  "Okay.  Tomorrow, at the library.  I'll be there."

Nodding once, he left the change rooms without so much as a goodbye, vanishing into the campus. Perhaps having friends was more trouble than it was worth.

* * *

 

As a general rule, people moved slightly when Castiel walked by.  Today was no exception; today, they parted like the Red Sea, even those who might put up a little resistance scattered when he turned a furious glare on them, exuding the kind of anger that was reserved for the spurned or betrayed.  He was in a bad mood all day, and everyone knew it, though none of them knew why.  He didn't even say hello to the librarian, simply waiting for Dean to get there so he could get this over with and minimise all contact.  It would be easier this way, less damage.

Dean was a bit of a nervous wreck when he walked into the library.  Pausing by the front desk, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could, he greeted their librarian familiarly, warmly and nodded when she asked him if he would be coming by that Sunday for the bi-monthly reading.  He’d been doing them since middle school, coming in and reading out loud to a small lot of younger children and occasionally their parents.  He enjoyed doing it, and it gave him plenty of community service hours for school.

"Of course," he grinned, charming despite his sweaty palms.  "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good," she smiled back at him and then gave him a stern look.  "Now your boy is over there sulking.  Go fix him."

"Ms. Mosley, I think you're--"

"Go."  She snapped light heartedly.  "I don't care what you think I do and do not understand.  I don't want him moping up the place."

"Yes, ma'am."  Dean nodded, moving off to their regular table with less enthusiasm than necessary.  Spotting Cas, he stalled for a moment, remembering how he'd smiled so sweetly at him after they'd kissed, and then pressed on, blocking the image out of his mind.  Sitting unceremoniously across from him, he pulled out his books and hesitated.  "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean."  He deadpanned, ignoring the thrill that accompanied Dean’s arrival every time they met.  This was strictly business, no matter how much he'd like it to be different.

Dean opened and shut his mouth a few times, shoulders rolled forward, slightly slumped as if to make himself a smaller target-- a disturbing habit for a boy his age to have, with equally as disturbing origins.  "How was your day?"

Cas swallowed thickly, and he tried to remain curt about everything; blank faced and steel toned.  But you could only stay mad with Dean for so long, and the way he shied didn't do anything to help.  He just wanted to reach out and tell him it was all okay, that they would work things out.  "Livable."

"Well, that's um...  That's good."  He said, giving him a small smile.  "Anything interesting happen?"

"I have an appointment with Crowley tomorrow.  I'm still debating actually going this time."  He replied with a soft snort.

Tilting his head, Dean stared at him inquisitively.  "What'd you do?"

"Skipped class a few too many times again."  He said, a small smile playing over the edges of his lips.

Rolling his eyes fondly, he shook his head and let out a huff of a laugh.  “You’re a very bad man, Castiel Novak.” 

He couldn’t not laugh when Dean did, small, but still amused.  “I could be worse, and Crowley picks on me.”

“How does he pick on _you_?”  Dean scoffed, grinning wryly.  “Is it a fashion thing?  It’s totally a fashion thing.  He’s always wearing those well-tailored suits-- I bet he fucking hates all of us _ratty sodding gits_ strutting around in our worn jeans and t-shirts.”  Clearing his throat, he sat up a bit straighter, schooling his features into a more serious expression, a surprisingly good accent lilting over his tongue.  “Pardon me, Mr. Novak, but do you know you’ve worn that same _ghastly_ leather jacket since your Freshman year-- every day, no less.  And those trousers, really, have you glanced in a mirror you absolute, bloody fool?”

The second Dean’s voice changed, Castiel lost it, gripping the edge of the table to keep himself upright as he laughed, far too amused by his mocking.  His nose crinkled as he laughed, nearly keeling over until he got a hold of himself and chuckled to a stuttering halt.

“It’s so true though.”  Cas snickered.  “He walks around like the king of that place.”

Dean took in the sight of him laughing avidly, tracing his features until he’d memorized them, and tucked it away for later.  He’d never seen Castiel laugh like that, lose himself so fully into it, and Dean found that he liked the sight more than words could express.  “Like a peacock.”  He supplied, because it was always what Crowley reminded him of.

Leaning against the desk, he grinned at Dean, previous anger discarded.  He couldn’t stay mad when he was being entertained like this.  “I’ll tell him that.”  He promised.  “Next I see him.”

“Well, don’t tell him _I_ said it.”  Dean replied, but there was a smile still on his face as he leaned forward on his elbows, crossing his forearms.  “But please tell me all about how red in the face he gets when you do.”

The laugh Cas gave was almost giggle worthy as he imagined Crowley’s reaction.  “I’ll take a photo.”  He said, grinning at the idea.  “And then maybe have it projected onto a wall.”

“A big wall,” Dean expanded.  “Preferably in front of the entire student body.”

“The side of the gym.”  He suggested, “Leave it there for a while; if they don’t see, there’ll be photos.”

“Exactly,” he hummed.  “I mean, a picture like that would get around.”

“He deserves it.”  Cas decided, “I’ve seen students sitting in his office looking like they were going to shit themselves because they were late _once_.”

Dean nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  I’ve been there, done that, not looking to make a return trip.”

Cas let out an annoyed huff.  “I still need to plan my Senior prank.  Haven't got long now.”

Sort of blanching at the mention of Castiel graduating, he kept the smile on his face, though it wobbled briefly.  Sometimes he forgot that he was the younger party here, and that Cas would be leaving this town-- and Dean-- behind soon.  Plastering a contemplative look on his face, he shrugged a single shoulder.

“Have you thought about taking apart his car and reassembling it in his office?” 

“I don’t have the skills for that, but I know this guy that does.”  He said, a wicked smile on his face.  “I don’t think a car would quite fit in there.  Thought about gluing the furniture to the roof, but that’s been done.”

“True, but what hasn’t?”  Dean slumped back in his chair, appearing relaxed but still feeling like he was walking on eggshells.  “You’ve got time, though.  I mean, it’s only November.”

“True.”  He agreed, wishing the time would speed up and slow down at the same time.  If he graduated, he’d leave, and for the first time, he was leaving something behind.  Shaking his head as though to clear it, he let out a sigh.  “But we didn’t come here for that.  What do you need to do for class?”

“I kind of already did it,” he shuffled around, pulling out his assignments.  “Just some math problems from the textbook and another vocab sheet for English.”

Almost bashfully, Dean slid them across the desktop to him, offering up a small smile.  He had been anxious about their session today.  He’d wanted time to talk if Castiel would allow it, and so he’d spent his entire lunch finishing up the assignments.

Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, peering at him curiously as he took the offered sheets.  “Then why are we here?”  He asked, no bite to his tone as he read over what Dean had done.

“Because you told me to be,” he jibed, but it fell flat as he glanced down at his hands, fidgeting slightly.  He didn’t like talking about these things.  Didn’t like it in the least.  “And because I missed yesterday.  Because my dad told me it was useless--” he took a deep breath, looking up to try and avoid the burning at his eyes.  “Because, like the worthless waste of space I am, it wouldn’t help me amount to anything when I’m going nowhere anyway.”

Castiel didn’t like Dean’s father, and this only cemented a deep set hatred.  What kind of parent tells their child they’re useless.  A faint snarl set on his lips, “He can take his opinion and shove it up his ass.”  He growled, protective of his friend.  “You’re going places, Dean Winchester, even if I have to drag you there.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”  He laughed, almost despairingly, giving him a dry look as he tried to play it off.  “I’m pretty heavy, though.  I think you’ll have a hard time of it.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”  He assured, half tempted to reach out to him, wanting to take away the damage and the hurt.

“I know,” he recalled the afternoon previous and the way Castiel had slammed him up against the locker when he’d said the absolute wrong thing.  “Anyways, that’s why.  That’s... what changed yesterday.”

Swallowing thickly, he looked over at him with a tentative kind of hope.  “Think it’ll change back?”

“Cas,” he breathed, dragging a hand through his hair.  “I-- The college thing, yeah.  It’s definitely back on the table-- I don’t think it’ll happen, but I won’t stop trying.  Maybe I’ll just go to community college or a two year program or something.  But um...”  He blushed, crossing an arm over his chest self-consciously.  “I don’t... Maybe.  The other thing.  Maybe.”

Nodding slowly in understanding, Castiel took it as a victory, a small smile on his face.  “Maybe is good.”  He said hesitantly.

“Yeah,” he nudged at Cas' foot, just barely, eyes straying to the table.  “Maybe is um... good.”

Castiel’s smile widened as a foot nudged his.  It wasn’t what he was after, but he’d take what he could get.  Going back to his reading, he took a moment to worry over the spelling, debating over whether consensus had an I in it.

“When did you say you did this again?”

“I didn’t,” he replied, glancing back up and feeling something in him flutter at the sight of the smile on Castiel’s face, still there as if he didn’t know it was on his face.  “But lunch.  I did it at lunch.”

“You’d think you were trying to get me to talk to you for an hour and a half.”  He said, raising an eyebrow, a certain playfulness in his tone.

“It’s--” he cleared his throat, fidgeting with a pen.  “It’s a genuine possibility.  I thought it would take longer.  Or not at all.”

“You underestimate your powers of persuasion.”  Cas said, a little quieter than usual.

Wincing slightly, though he knew it wasn’t meant to be a barb, he let out a soft sigh.  “Is it always gonna be like this, now?”

“Like what?” He asked, curious as to why Dean had flinched.

“Like we’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

Castiel let out a long sigh, slumping a little in his chair.  “Probably.”  He admitted, pushing back Dean’s papers.  “If I can’t help you with anything else, I should get going.”

Catching Cas' wrist as he pulled his hands back, Dean gave him a pleading look.  “Cas, please.  I said I couldn’t because I didn’t want to fuck things up.  Tell me I didn’t fuck it up anyways.”

He stalled as Dean reached out, holding his gaze evenly for a moment.  “You didn’t fuck it up, and you won’t.”  He said, “I just wish you could see that.”

“Then why do you keep leaving?”  His grip tightened, just barely, hand warm around his wrist.

“Because it’s easier.”  Cas said flatly, wanting to jerk his hand away and forget this ever happened, the warmth of the hand around his wrist keeping him from leaving entirely.  Slowly, he twisted his hand, curling them together, fingers lacing, hoping he wouldn’t scare Dean away.

Watching silently, breath hitching, Dean's expression eased slightly as their fingers threaded together.  He should have pulled away already.  He shouldn’t have been sitting there, holding hands with Castiel.  It would just make it harder.  Things were already tense as it was; he could only imagine how bad it was going to be now, every touch igniting something in him.

Swallowing thickly, Dean gave a reluctant squeeze, hating how perfectly their hands fit together.  Brushing his thumb over the side of Cas' hand, Dean worried his lower lip between his teeth, terrified as he sat there.  Because as good as it could be, it could also be one of the worst things to ever happen to them.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, but didn’t pull his hand away.

“Why not?”  Cas asked, moving his other hand to cup around Dean’s.  “We’ll be okay; there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yes, there is.”  He sighed, staring at their conjoined hands, wishing there was a way to keep them like that forever.  Taking a deep breath, he gave him a wry look.  “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I’m really fucked up.”

“So am I, what’s your point?”  He countered, stroking over the top of his hand slowly, enjoying the steady warmth of it in his.

"My point is," Dean shuddered, eyes drawing back to where Castiel was touching him so gently.  So sweetly.  "That we're stupid, and we shouldn't be doing this because I'm just going to screw up and hurt you.  You said I wasn't going to disappoint you, remember?  But if we do _this_?  I will.  I know I will."

He leant forward on the desk, hands clamping onto Dean's to keep him from running away.  "You will _not_ disappoint me, understand?"  He said, in complete trust of Dean's abilities.  "I'd like to try."

Dean stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching his, wishing nothing more than to believe him.  To have the kind of faith in himself that Castiel seemed to have.  He didn't try and pull away, though he was itching to, but he sat there rigidly-- caught up in him and absolutely terrified of it.  Jaw flexing, he debated over his next words.  Cas wanted to try.  Cas wanted _him._

 _Do I really want to see that look on his face again when I say no?_   He frowned, fingers tightening around Castiel's reflexively. _Or do I want to see a worse expression when I finally ruin this beyond repair?_

"Let me think about it," he finally blurted, appearing flustered as he did.  "I just-- I don't wanna jump into this thing blind when it could just be hormones or- or sexual attraction confused with feelings brought on by intense empathy."  He knew they were lame excuses, but he also knew he needed time to think.  Time to decide if he wanted to risk hurting Castiel.

Dean leaned forward too, free hand slipping over to where Castiel was holding his prisoner, brushing fingertips along surprisingly soft skin.  "Let me think about it.  Give me a little while to decide.  Wait with me until we're both _sure_ it's what we want.  It could be a day.  It could be a week.  But, um, this?"  He glanced down to their hands and back up, faintly flush.  "It's okay.  We can-- I don't mind doing stuff like this.  In fact it'll probably help suss everything out.  So if you want, we can do this and- and, ya know, things like it until we're sure."

At this point, it was as close to a 'yes' as Cas was going to get, a contented smile on his face as Dean spoke, not having the heart to call him out for his stupid excuses.  If it was only lust, he would have bedded Dean by now, leaving him high and dry-- and he was _quite_ sure that intense empathy didn't make you want to kiss someone senseless.

"I can wait."  He said, voice dropping to the kind of quiet that didn't fit his exterior, loosening his grip on Dean's hand as its pair rested over his.  The more he thought about it, the better he liked the solution until he wore this intimate little smile that just curved his lips.  "And if it takes a year, then I'll have to be patient."

Something in him warmed at the proclamation, and Dean smiled in return.  "Okay.  Then that's what we'll do.  Kind of like a uh, trial period.  A test drive, of sorts."

He gave a soft snort of laughter at the explanation, squeezing Dean's hand gently.  "And if it works, then I get to keep you."

"Keep me?"  Dean chuckled derisively, though there was a tug in his stomach at the words, a lot like lust.  "What are you gonna do, tattoo your claim on me?  Give me a collar to wear around?"

For a moment, Castiel considered the possibility, a smirk curved his lips and he leant forward a little.  "I didn't think you'd be the type for all that, but I'm willing if you are."

Face going blank, he blinked at him a few times before that blush was climbing back onto his face, redder than ever.

Cas laughed at his blushing, tapping at the top of his hand.  "I'm kidding."

"Oh," he cleared his throat, looking far too flustered and sounding far too disappointed than he would have liked.  "I knew that."

Castiel’s teasing smile softened into something affectionate, lifting their hands and brushing his lips over the top of Dean's hand.

"Oh, my god."  He breathed, a bemused but affectionate smile curling on his lips.  "You're a giant sap and I had no idea."

"Sh!  You'll ruin my reputation."  Castiel warned, tone light hearted.

"Cas," he gave him a pointedly dry look.  "You just kissed the back of my hand.  I don't need to say anything, you're ruining your reputation for yourself."

"Oh, you know what I mean."  He said, giving a quick check around him to ensure no one was watching.  It wouldn't do for him to be seen engaging in such blatant affections.

Seeing the way Castiel glanced about the library, Dean slowly pulled his hands back to himself, missing the heat of fingers tangled with his instantly.  He didn't want to, but judging by the mildly cautious look on Castiel's face, he didn't want to be caught out and giving soft touches to Dean of all people. 

"Yeah, okay."  He smiled, but it almost grim in its nature.  Which was ridiculous considering they weren't even dating.  Not really.  Not yet.  "I'll keep your teddy bear side on the DL."

The instant Dean pulled away he regretted even mentioning it.  What was a reputation in comparison to the slightly calloused pads of his fingers, a little sweaty, but warm in all senses of the word?

"I didn't mean it that way."  He mumbled, placing a hand in the middle of the table as though it would coax Dean's back.

"Yeah, you did."  He stared at long fingers, tracing the line of them-- Dean had never found hands attractive, but Castiel had some lovely ones.  Shifting his minutely, he let their fingertips brush-- nothing more-- so that if someone were to pass by and see, they would think nothing of it.  "But that's okay.  Test drive, remember?"

"Yeah, test drive."  He said, quiet as he watched their hands brush.  He wanted to just be able to pick Dean up and never let him go.  He always had been affectionate for those that earned it.

"How's it riding so far?"  Dean teased lightly, glancing up at him, coy and a bit timid as he dragged a finger down the length of one of Castiel's.

"Just fine.  A little bumpy sometimes though."  He replied, playful despite the timid tone of Dean's voice.

Dean hummed, nodding in understanding.  "Well, I never did promise it would be smooth.  We can stop whenever you like."

"It wouldn't be worth it if it was easy."  Castiel replied.

"No."  He grinned, broad and adoring.  "No, I suppose it wouldn't--"

The chirping of his cell phone had Dean scrambling, knees knocking into the table and creating a clatter of shuffling books.  Bashfully, he dug around for it in his backpack, whispering apologies to the few people who were glaring over at him.  If Ms. Mosley had been close by she would have had his head. 

Tugging his cell out, he hit the talk button and held it to his ear.  "Hello?"

" _Dean?  Are you picking me up today?"_

"Yeah, of course, why?  What's goin' on?  You need me to swing by early--?"

 _"Breathe, jerk._ "  Sam huffed, and Dean knew he was rolling his eyes on the other line-- it brought a smile to his lips.  _"Can I bring someone home with me_?"

"Sure, Andy can come--"

" _Not Andy.  A girl.  Can I bring home a girl_?"

Dean blinked, jaw dropping slightly, and he was suddenly at a loss for words.  When did Sam start liking girls?  When did they stop having cooties?  When had his baby brother grown up enough to want to bring a girl over, and to feel the need to ask Dean about it-- which could only mean one thing: that he liked her-- while sounding so very nervous?  Glancing over at Castiel, as if he knew what was happening and knew how to explain it to Dean, he nudged his foot under the table.  "A girl?"

For a moment, Castiel was lost completely, a faint murmur on the other end of Dean’s phone doing nothing to assist his understanding.  As Dean spoke, clarity struck him, a slow smile curling his lips.  Little Sam had a girlfriend.  Chuckling quietly, he nudged back at Dean's foot, hoping to reassure him.

" _No, Dean, a Sasquatch._ Yes, _a girl._ "

"What's her name?"  He replied quickly.

 _"Does it matter?  Dean,_ please _?"_   Dean swallowed thickly at the desperation in his little brother's voice.  He couldn't imagine what little thirteen year old had Sam wrapped around her finger so tightly, but he knew in that instant that he needed to meet her.

"Yeah, okay."  He cleared his throat, feeling oddly ansty about meeting his little brother's first squeeze.  "Pick you up in thirty?"

 _"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!_ "

"Whatever," he huffed out a faint laugh.  "Go hang out with your _girlfriend_."

" _She's a_ friend _that's a_ girl _."_ Sam insisted, but Dean could hear the smile.  _"You go hang out with your_ boyfriend."

Dean practically choked on his own tongue, stuttering over a denial when the line went dead.  Pulling the phone away, he stared down at it, gawking.  "He hung up on me."

Cas tilted his head in mild confusion as Dean spluttered, a faint smile on his face at the put-out expression his friend was wearing.  "What did he say?"

"Nothing," he muttered, but the blush said otherwise.

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, Castiel leaned in a little, giving him a pointed look.  "Nothing.  Of course."  He said dryly, subtly prying.

"Sam might've... insinuated that you and I are more than just friends."  Dean rolled his eyes, laughing nervously.  "Which, is ridiculous because we weren't dating until-- well, we aren't dating."

A grin lit up his face, overly pleased that it he had Sam's approval.  "Not yet, at least."

" _You_ are counting your chickens before they hatch," but he was smiling, laughter staining his lips.  "But, in retrospect, I can see where he's coming from.  We have done some pretty... date-like things."

Cas nodded in agreement, returning his smile.  "But I'm quite sure they'll all hatch."

"Cocky," he accused.

"Well informed."  Cas countered.

Leaning in, Dean smirked.  "Egotistical."

"A good judge of character."

"Arrogant."  He bumped the toe of his shoe against Castiel's.

Huffing softly, Castiel rolled his eyes.  "Okay, maybe a little."

Laughing, he let his foot rest over the top of Castiel's, grinning triumphantly.  "At least you're honest about it."

Giving him a flat look, Cas was content to sit there with him despite the mild teasing.  "What time do you have to get Sam?"

Glancing down at his watch, he made a face.  "Probably about twenty minutes."  Schooling his features, he glanced up, all nonchalance.  "Why?  You thinking about a quickie in the stacks?"

Raising an eyebrow, Castiel considered it for a moment, a tempting offer despite the inappropriate nature.  "I think the librarian would kill us."

"Missouri does know everything that happens in her library," Dean conceded with an overly dramatic sigh, grinning at him.  "But, hey, food for thought."

Humming his agreement, Cas let a soft smirk curve his lips, entertaining the idea for a moment, a flush finding it way up onto his cheeks.

Dean's eyes flashed and he leaned in just a little more, voice lowering to a seductive husk.  "What's on your mind, Cas?  Me pressing you against the shelves, or you pressing me?"

"Both are very tempting.  But I don't think we can fit both into twenty minutes."  He replied, eyes a little glazed as he thought it through, wondering if Dean felt as good as he suspected he would.

"No," he breathed, lips curling lopsidedly.  "I suppose we couldn't.  Some other time then."

"Some other time."  He agreed, knowing it was just banter despite the sincerity in his own tone.

Grinning, almost to himself, Dean glanced down and then back up, something warm unfurling in him.  Maybe this could be something.  "You think about that stuff often?  With me?"

Cas hesitated for a moment, swallowing thickly and avoiding his gaze.  "Sometimes, yeah."

"Seriously?"  Dean asked, disbelief tainting his voice, nudging at his foot again as he tried to catch his eyes.  "Like, _seriously_ seriously?"

"Yeah."  Cas said quietly, looking up at him a little sheepish.  "Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?  I'm just surprised is all," he backed off a little, and if he wasn't so busy feeling his face burn, he would have found the situation entirely too amusing for words.  Biting his lower lip, he studied Castiel for a moment, brushing their fingers together.  "...I thought I was the only one."

"Really?"  Cas asked, tentative as he looked up at him.  Maybe there was a little more to this than a trial run after all.

"Sometimes.  I mean, once or twice."  Dean huffed, his turn to glance away.  "Don't sound so shocked.  Have you _seen_ you?"

"I could say the same about you.  I mean, come on...  It's hard not to think about it."  He mumbled, nudging at his fingers again.

"Since before or after we started tutoring?"  He asked curiously, shifting so that he could flip his hand over, palm up like an offering.

Moving his hand to fit over Dean's almost without thinking about it, Cas gave a stiff shrug.  "After.  Didn't really know you before that."

"Oh," he nodded, as if taking the information with interest, but the way he broke their gaze was almost guilty.  "That's-- That's cool."

Stroking over his wrist carefully, Cas offered a small smile, hoping to break Dean's embarrassment.

"...before," he said, barely a mutter, watching the way his fingers brushed over his wrist.  "Once.  Or twice.  Before."

Raising an eyebrow, Cas couldn't help but preen a little, chest puffing out.  "Really?"

Pursing his lips, he sighed.  "Yeah.  You're kind of a wet dream on legs, Cas.  With that whole bad boy thing going?”

Chuckling softly, he tugging at his hand playfully.  "I'll have to remember that."

Groaning into his free hand, hiding his face, he shook his head.  "Please, don't."  Dean said, half-serious and smiling like a fool.

Tugging at his hand again, Castiel grinned at him.  "I will.  And I’ll bring it up when you least expect it."

"Ass," he said with no venom, peering at him between his fingertips before he dropped it away with a regretful sigh.  "I have to go."

Disappointment welled up in him, making a soft little sound of complaint in the back of his throat.  "Good luck with your brother’s little girlfriend."  He said, letting go of his hand reluctantly.

Beaming, still nervous about the whole thing but also excited, he gathered up his things and then paused.  Hesitating as he stood, he rounded the short end of the table, and came to a stop by Castiel's side.  Reaching out, he slid his fingers along the length of his jaw, trembling just slightly.  "Close your eyes."

Looking up at him for a confused moment, Castiel did as asked, heart rate rising as he figured out where this was leading.

Dean swallowed audibly-- it was so different, kissing someone when it wasn't in the moment, when it might actually mean something-- and leaned in.  He brushed his lips across his cheek, pressing a lingering kiss to his skin, just barely touching the corner of his mouth.  Like a tease.  Pulling back, he cleared his throat and stood up straight, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his shirt.

"Right," he said, voice wavering.  "If that's all, I should get gone."

As he felt lips brush near his lips, Cas let out a soft hum, contented as he felt Dean pull away, opening his eyes to look up at him, a certain softness in his gaze.  "I'll walk you out."  He offered.

From behind her desk, as the two of them walked by, Miss Missouri Mosley cheered silently.


	10. It’s Just a Kiss Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: depictions of alcohol abuse, depictions of child abuse, sexual situations, and down right schmoopiness

Normally, Dean would have been aware of it weeks ahead of time.  He would have known it was coming; he would have been far more prepared.  As it was, he’d been distracted-- too busy with school, with the upcoming game, with Castiel-- and had almost completely forgotten about it.  It made his gut churn and twist with guilt when he realized that he’d all but forgotten.  The ugly reminder came the night before the anniversary, in the form of their front door banging open, followed by the sound of shattering glass.  Dean had been up late, studying for an exam he had to take early due to the away match he had to leave class early for, and had startled almost violently at the sound. 

Holding his breath, he listened in complete silence from his bedroom, moving over to the doorway and tilting his head as if it would help him catch noise better.  When he heard a familiar grumbling downstairs, he didn’t relax.  Taking a shuddering lungful of air, he moved quietly across the hall, opening Sam’s door a crack and finding him fast asleep under the covers, one leg sprawled out from beneath.  Gritting his teeth, he shut the door again, and prayed that he would sleep through whatever happened next. 

Making his way down the stairs, he meandered into the kitchen, hesitating in the entryway when he caught sight of his father fumbling with the cap of another bottle of Jack that replaced the one that he broken against the tiles.  He swallowed thickly, not wanting to confront him, but knowing he should.  That he should get him into bed before he did anymore damage.

“Dad?”

John turned, eyes bloodshot and hazy, like he wasn’t really seeing him.  “Go ‘way.”

“Dad,” he sighed, inching into the room, avoiding the bits of jagged glass that littered the floor.  “Come on, I’m sure you’re tired.”

“I’m not sleepin’.  Not today.”  He groused, finally peeling open the bottle and bringing it to his lips. 

Dean’s brows drew together.  “Why not today, dad?”

“You don’t remember what today is?”  John hissed, a look of disgust flitting over his face before it was replaced with a half-broken one.  “Kitchen still smells like her.  Know you remember that.”

It was like the wind got knocked out of him, eyes widening in something a lot like horror.  November sixteenth.  It was November sixteenth and Dean had completely forgot-- so wrapped up in everything else, so stupid, so careless.  It was the day he’d found Mary lying in the kitchen, hair sprawled out like a halo around her head, smoke filling the room.

“Dad,” his voice broken and he drew a bit closer.  “Let’s get you upstairs okay?  You don’t have to sleep, just--”

The back hand, though clumsy, came out of nowhere and liquor sloshed over his face and his shirt as knuckles struck him across the mouth.  “What have I said about tellin’ me what to do?”

Stumbling back, his fingers came up shakily to his lips, and he could taste the blood before he saw it.  He wanted to run.  Wanted to go upstairs, get Sam, and just take off.  But there’s was a hand in his shirt that stopped him, tugged him close, and he trembled as his father fumed.  Because John couldn’t _be_ broken and wounded, lost without the love of his life-- he had to be angry about it.  He always had, and Dean suspected he always would.

And then there was another blow, this one right across his cheek, and it left him sprawling backwards, out of his grip.  It would bruise, he knew it would, and he took another step back, crying out as glass wedged its way into the ball of Dean’s foot.  Falling back, he landed harshly on his ass, tears burning at his eyes as blood seeped down his heel and onto the floor.

His pained shout seemed to snap John out of his rage, his father’s eyes going wide and worried as he quickly knelt down in front of him, bottle of Jack clattering but not breaking as his hands hovered over Dean.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”

Still shaking, Dean stared at him, wary as his dad inched forward on his knees, rough hands cupping his face gingerly.  Dean’s lips trembled, teeth almost chattering, and he gripped hopelessly at the floor as his foot gave a resounding throb. 

John pet his hair clumsily, looking more worse for wear than Dean had seen him in years, tears slipping down his father’s face and leaving tracks through the grime in their wake.  “You look so much like her sometimes, Dean-o.  More and more each year.  Sometimes I just-- I don’t mean to-- I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, but his voice was strained, and it wasn’t okay.  It definitely wasn’t okay.  “It’s okay.  I’m okay.  I’ll be fine.  I know you didn’t mean to.”

“I’m sorry,” he all but sobbed again, pulling Dean close and hugging him tight; Dean shuddered, but pat him on the back soothingly, letting him cry for a moment, offering comfort as John apologized over and over, words muffled against his skin, until he got hold of himself again.

Easing out of his arms, Dean gave him a weak smile as John stared at him blearily.  “Go get some rest, dad.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, stumbling to his feet, bottle --forgotten and half empty-- laying sideways on the floor and spilling out as he started towards the stairs.  “Yeah, okay.  G’night, kiddo.”

“Night, dad.”  He croaked as affectionately as he could, waiting until he heard the familiar snap of John’s door shutting and locking before he finally let himself dissolve into tears, sobbing into his hands as he sat there in the middle of a mess, remembering nothing but those dazed green eyes staring blankly at him.

* * *

 

With a slightly dazed expression, Castiel sat in class, what was a generally stoic face lit up seemingly from within.  His recent penchant for sleepy looking smiles in the presence of a certain junior had piqued much interest within a large portion of the schools populous, some even going as far as to attempt conversation, easily brushed off with a warning glare.

Leaning his hand against the palm of his hand, Castiel let out a soft sigh, nearly absent as he waited, leg jiggling under the table impatiently as he counted each and every tick of the clock, impatient as he waited for what seemed an age for the bell to go.  A near affectionate smile quirked his lips, recalling the warm press of Dean's body, stark contrast to the cold metal of the lockers that Cas had pushed him up against.  The rest of the week had been nothing short of agony, fleeting touches, tease that never sated the rush of heat that accompanied each touch he was given.  Cold showers had been an, unfortunately, recurring practice.

The old school bell tacked to the wall rattled into clamouring life, ringing clear through the class.  Before its short blare ended, Cas was out of his chair, bag on his back and out the door, near running down the hallway to Dean's locker.  He waited there, surprisingly patient despite the buzz running through him, addicted to Dean's presence, his smile, his voice, and needing his fix.

Time passed; at five minutes, he was mildly concerned.  After ten, he was down right anxious.  Dean was supposed to be here, just like he said.  People thinned to near none, and he was still waiting, fidgety now, peering down the rapidly clearing corridors.  Where was he?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he ticked over options in his head; no teacher would keep Dean in for that long, positive or otherwise, he'd seen Garth pass by not so long ago, knocking out the possibility of his other friends interfering.  Casting one final glance back to Dean's locker, he took off again, out of the campus building and down to the car park.

Meg never was hard to find if you knew where to look, one of the few people Cas trusted enough to question because frankly Dean should have been there, and he was getting worried.  As per usual, Meg made no attempt to blend, the familiar cock of her hip pointing her out in the sparse crowd of the parking lot.  Jogging up, he skidded to a halt directly in front of her, nearly crashing into Charlie in the process, muttering a quick apology to his tentative friend.

"Where is he?"  Cas demanded, tugging at the sleeve of her jacket in a childish gesture he'd picked up around her years ago.  To his question, Meg’s features fell blank, shrugging her jacket sleeve away easily, as she always has when Cas got demanding like this.

"Don't know who you're talking about."  She said, following the promise she'd made Dean.  His mother was not to be spoken about.  Castiel narrowed his eyes at her, head tilting ever so slightly as he read her.

"Yes, you do."  He said pointedly, receiving a tight lipped glare from Meg.  Knowing he wouldn't get any kind of help from her, Castiel turned his attentions to Charlie, who had backed off a little, watching their interaction with a little wariness.

"And so do you."  Cas said to her, expression loosing some of its annoyance, tone softening.  "He was supposed to be here."

Charlie shifted a little, looking briefly at Meg.  "It's the sixteenth.  He'll be at the cemetery…  Probably."  She said, reluctant, though she knew Cas meant no harm.

He didn't wait for anything further, having the location he needed, mumbling a soft but surprisingly genuine thanks, Cas took off again, knowing it would take him time to travel that far on his own.

* * *

 

Dean's foot still hurt. 

He'd pried the glass out hours ago and bandaged it up, but it still hurt.  Like a dull, aching throb.  Constant and annoying.  Huffing, he brought the bottle to his lips, gripping it loosely around the neck.  He'd plucked it off the floor after he'd called Bobby, needing to clean the place up before he got there.  He didn't want to have to explain all of the blood and glass anymore than he had to explain the split lip.  The conversation was clipped, like the old man had been expecting the call, and he said he'd be right over.  Dean needed him to take Sam to school because he couldn't do it himself.  Not today.

The liquor burned on its way down, and he stared ahead at the tombstone-- shiny and marbled, gleaming in the light that filtered through the leaves-- _komorebi._ Picking at the grass by his side idly, he heard the footsteps before he saw a person, and figured it was Jody or Bobby coming to check on him.

"You know," he faltered for a moment, pulling one leg to tuck underneath himself but leaving the other out, not wanting to aggravate the wound in his foot further.  "It's only been ten years, and I nearly forgot."

"You never forget.  Not really."  Cas said after a moment, sitting down next to Dean, hoping he could coax him out of the cemetery.

"Oh," he sighed, looking over at him, sort of dazed in his shock, brow furrowing-- he winced when the movement aggravated the bruise purpling beneath his eye.  "Hi.  What're you doing here?"

His brow furrowed in concern when he saw the state of Dean's face, having a vague idea of who caused it, anger curling in his gut.  "Who did this?"

"No one," he replied, hazily misinterpreting what he was asking.  "It was natural causes.  Cerebral aneurism.  I found her-- I was the one who found her."

In any other circumstance, he would have been frustrated at Dean for misunderstanding, but he let it slide in favour of shifting a little closer.  He didn't know what to say, or how to make him feel any better, carefully curling an arm around his shoulders, silent as he tried to offer some kind of comfort.  Dean shivered, pressing close into his side and welcoming the warmth of his body with a soft hum.  He'd been sitting out there all day in nothing but jeans and a ratty T-shirt, cold outside, but offset by the heat of alcohol.  He sniffled pitifully, taking another long pull from the bottle in his hand.

"I was eight.  I was the only one who saw her like that.  On the kitchen floor like that."  His breath caught and broke.  "She kept staring at me."

Squeezing his shoulders softly, Cas held him as best he could considering his position, letting him lean as much as he wanted.

"How long have you been here?"  He asked gently.

"I dunno," Dean replied, looking back over at him, eyes bloodshot from his crying.  "Since Sammy left for school.  I'm cold.  Do you think she's cold?"

"No."  He replied, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.  He knew it was a bit of a lie; Death was a very cold thing.  "Do you believe in Heaven, Dean?"

“No."  He echoed, soft and hollow.  "If there was a God, he wouldn't have taken her.  He wouldn't have left me and Sam all alone with my dad.  He wouldn't have driven my dad to drinking because when he drinks he--"  his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to overtake him.

“God can only keep the balance."  Cas told him, voice quiet to keep from spooking him.  He didn't comment any further as Dean broke off, afraid of walking into territory he wasn't welcome in.

"How is this balanced?"  He asked, burying closer, grip tightening around the neck of the bottle.

"Because we can't know happiness without sadness."  He replied, careful to keep Dean from the bottle he clutched.

"That's poignant," he said, as if impressed before he gave him an unamused stare.  "And fuckin' stupid."

Cas gave a soft snort of laughter, slightly hollow.  "Yeah, I know."

Falling silent for a long moment, Dean stared at the grave marker, face turning as his expression soured into something broken hearted.  "I was the last one to see her eyes.  I closed 'em, didn't want her staring at everybody, didn't want her soul to escape through them.  Called the police, and then they took her away.  Sometimes when I walk into the kitchen, she's still laying there."

Castiel didn't know what to say to that.  He couldn't offer any kind of sympathy without sounding ridiculous.  He let Dean sit there for a while, carefully easing the bottle out of his hand, hoping he was too wrapped up in his memories to notice.

"We should go."  Cas said softly.

"I don't want to," he hitched out, sniffling again.  "I don't wanna leave her."

Reluctantly, Cas nodded, knowing Dean needed time for this, even if it was unhealthy.  Depositing the bottle of Jack as far away from Dean as possible, he rubbed soothingly at his shoulder, set to wait all day with him if he had to.

After a while, Dean let his head lull against his shoulder, and he shivered as the cool really started to seep in.  He gripped at Cas' pant leg, almost desperate, needing him close and finding a grounding sort of assurance in him.  When the thoughts and the memories and the what-ifs started to take too large of a tole, he whimpered and buried his face against his neck, pressing closer.  Carefully, Cas pulled away, tugging off his jacket and draping it over Dean's shoulders, deeming him in more need of the warmth.  Returning to hold him, Castiel laid a hand over the one curled into his pant leg, holding him up as he pressed close, mumbling soft little things into his ear, affections and assurances.

"Can we go now?"  Dean asked, voice muffled but broken.  "I think I want to go now."

"We can go now."  Cas told him, moving to stand in front of him, offering a hand to help him up.

Taking his hand, he stood on shaking legs and then gave a sharp hiss of pain when weight settled on his injured foot.  Bracing himself on Castiel's arms, he sighed, head hanging as his foot gave a resounding throb.  "I don't want to go home."

He caught Dean all but instantly, hooking his arm around shoulders to keep him upright.  Castiel made a mental note to ask why he was limping later.  "I'll take you back to my place."  He said softly, guiding him away from the grave, leaving the bottle in their wake.

* * *

 

Generally, Gabriel didn't expect his brother home until late, but a phone call from his brother's school administrator --neatly dealt with in a near flawless Swedish accent as per usual--  alerted him to some kind of trouble for Cas, or at least another walk out.  His worried pacing was cut off by the chirp of his phone, fumbling to find a message from his little brother that simply read:

_I'm bringing Dean back with me. - C_

He could practically hear the flat tone in his brother voice.  His worry faded as fast as it had come by, eager to unleash the hell that was Cas' baby stories on his not-quite-boyfriend.  Gabriel was about to holler a greeting from his room when heard the door open, sticking his head through to see them, the warning look Castiel pinned him with abruptly told him to shut up and play nice.  His brow furrowed as his little brother all but carried a frankly ill looking Dean through the door. 

Dean was clutching at Castiel's shirt, limping along as his friend supported him easily, warm but tired.  He felt kind of woozy.  His foot hurt, and his face hurt.  He wanted another drink.  It only took him a second to realize he'd said most of that out loud.

"You're not having another drink."  Cas said flatly, leading him around the clutter of his apartment and into a small but perfectly functional bedroom.  "And I can tend to your wounds later."

"Why can't I have another drink?"  He asked, in half a whine, stumbling slightly before he spotted the bed and started trying to lead the way over to it. 

Letting Dean go as he pleased, Castiel gave him a near stern look.  "Because you've had enough."

Flopping down onto the sheets, slightly askew as they were, Dean huffed out a breath but his words were muffled against a pillow that smelled like Castiel.  "God, you are such a _downer_!"

Settling onto the edge of his bed, Castiel gave a mild shrug, letting Dean complain as much as he liked.  "One of us has to keep you in control of your facilities."

"I am in perfect control of myself, thankyouverymuch."  He groused, peering over at him, face still half-buried in Castiel's pillow.  Eyes flitted over him, and he reached out, clutching at his shirt again and gave a soft tug.  "You should c'mere."

"Of course you are."  Cas grunted, not arguing when his shirt was tugged at, laying down beside him though he kept a slight distance.

This was the kind of opportunity Gabriel had been waiting _weeks_ for, and he wasn't going to let it pass up because Dean was having a bad day.  Poking his head around the door frame, he gave a near cheshire grin.  "So, can I interest you two in some candles?  Roses?  Lube?"

Dean's head popped up, hair sticking up in endearing tufts as he stared over at him-- the only thing that made his expression any less adorable were the bruises on his face.  "Booze-- hey!"  He grinned lopsidedly, ignoring the twinge of his split lip.  "I know you!"

Castiel glared heatedly at his brother, though it was ignored by the elder party who had decided three was indeed _not_ a crowd, perching on the end of Cas' bed.

 "Yes, you do."  Gabriel said, smile dropping for a moment, "But let’s forget about that, shall we?"

"Why?"  He asked, purely innocent, rolling over and pushing himself up so that he could sit and lean back against the headboard.  "It was fun.  It was funny."

Casting a slightly wary glance to the now glowering Castiel, Gabriel gave a shrug.  "Funny is my speciality."  He said, trying not to 'aw' at the hand Cas placed on Dean's shoulder, gentle caution.

"It is?"  Dean asked curiously, hand retangling in Castiel's shirt. 

"Uh-huh."  Gabriel replied, watching the way they interacted and shifting a little uncomfortably, not used to his brother displaying that kind of intimacy and actually  _meaning_ it.

"That's cool."  Dean hummed, letting his eyes close for a brief moment, feeling warm and safe sitting in Castiel's bed-- surrounded by the smell of him and all of the things that Cas liked.  When he gazed at Gabriel again, he nudged him with his foot.  "So, how about that booze?"

"Uh, there's some in th--"

"No, thank you."  Cas snapped, tone boding no argument as he gave his brother a very pointed look, jerking his head in gesture for him to leave.  With a long suffering sigh, Gabriel got up, ambling out of the room.

"Party pooper!"  He accused, sticking his tongue out at his little brother.

"That's what I said," he grinned over at Cas, playfully and drunkenly accusing.  "Killjoy."

"You'll thank me in the morning."  Cas said, squirming a little to get comfortable.

Wiggling, Dean laid back down, turning to face him and pressing a bit closer.  Staring at him, he smiled softly, reaching out to touch his jaw.  "You've got pretty eyes."

Castiel let him touch as he liked, leaning into his hand a little.  "Have I?"  He asked, knowing all this was only because Dean was inebriated.

"Mhmm," he nodded, pressing even closer, their legs tangling together.  "I think about them.  Like all the time.  Even before I liked you I thought about them."

"So I've been told."  Cas said, a little absent as he laid an arm over his side, a careful hand coming up to inspect the bruises on his face, gingerly running over his split lip.  "What happened?"

"My dad hit me."  He admitted softly, unashamed in his state.

Any affection in his gaze vanished, gripping a hand into the sheets as his earlier suspicions were confirmed.  "Why do you stay?"

"Sam needs me," he breathed, meeting his gaze sadly.  "If I leave or report him, they'll take him away from me."

A frown marred his face, unable to think of a better solution to Dean's problem.  "You'll be old enough to move out soon, right?"  He asked, running a hand carefully over his jaw.

Humming, he pressed into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.  "Yes.  But I'll take Sam with me."

"Where will you go?"  He asked, letting himself move closer as Dean closed his eyes though he knew he shouldn't have.

"I don't know," Dean replied, voice airy as his gaze met Castiel's again, leaning just a touch closer to brush at his nose. 

His heart rate sped up as their noses brushed, breath hitching ever so slightly.  "You could take me with you."

"I would.  Don't wanna be anywhere without you, Cas.  Wanna stop doing this stupid trial period.  I just want you."

Smiling, Cas let their foreheads rest together, eyes shutting again.  Dean’s hand curled into the collar of his shirt, keeping him close, as if afraid he would try and pull away while they were laying there together.  It wasn't long before his breath was evening out, sleep creeping up on him.  Castiel was going to say something, but he saw how Dean went lax against the mattress, knowing sleep wasn't far, not wanting to disturb him.

"Good night Dean."  He said quietly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

* * *

 

It was dark when Dean awoke, dehydrated but sadly sober.  He was curled up in a bed that wasn't his, a leather jacket draped over his shoulders, and an arm around his waist.  At some point, he had buried ever closer to Castiel, face pressed against his neck with Cas' chin resting on his head.  Both of his hands were between them, clutching at cotton, one palm pressed over the assuring thud-thud of Castiel's heart beating.  Breath shallow, he blinked slowly, trying to push past the fatigue that had settled in his bones as he shifted against him. 

"Cas?"  He croaked, tentative, unsure if he was disturbing him or not.

The shift of legs next to his, and the no longer even rush of breath against his neck woke Castiel, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes.  It took him a moment to remember why there was somebody next to him, pulling back enough to give Dean a sleepy smile.

"G'morning."  He mumbled.

"Morning," he replied a little dazedly, voice soft as if he were worried that if he spoke too loud he'd wake up from a dream.  "What time is it?"

"Five."  He said, raising his head to peer at the clock on his bedside table.  The hand at Dean's hip idly moved over his side, tracking over the ladder of his ribs.

"Jesus," he breathed, only to have it catch in his throat as fingers slid up over him, shirt rising slightly.  Dean tried to move, but winced when his head, his face, his foot, his _everything_ gave a resounding throb.  "Shit."

Cas' brow furrowed when Dean winced, but it quickly dissolved when he put two and two together and came to the right conclusion.  "I told you you'd have a hangover.”

"Not if I'd just kept drinking," he snarked, giving him a half-hearted glare.  "You can't crash if you don't come down."

"Don't complain, it wouldn't have helped you."  Cas said, taking hold of the hand settled over his chest.

Letting out an amused breath, conceding silently as he released the death hold he'd had on his shirt, Dean pulled back enough to meet his gaze in the dimly lit room.  "I'm in your bed."

"Yes, you are."  He replied, squeezing his hand softly.

Dean replied with a weak smile.  "This isn't how I pictured finding my way into your bed the first time.  I'm sorry I got drunk and blubbered all over you.''

"Then how did you picture waking up here?"  He asked, nudging softly at his nose.  "I don't mind, you needed someone."

Blushing, Dean let the question slide by the wayside, not wanting to get into how he'd pictured things with Castiel-- more than once or twice now-- while he was still tangled up with him.  "Well, thanks.  I didn't-- I, um, there were some things said that I--"  Cutting himself off, he felt his stomach churn.  He thought maybe it was just nervousness, but when he gagged slightly, his eyes widened in panic.  "Bathroom.  Where's your bathroom?"

Cas was out of bed near instantly, not wanting projectile vomit anywhere in his vicinity.  "Across the lounge room, second door."

Dean didn't say thank you, he was too busy pushing from the bed and making his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could.  He didn't even bother flicking on the lights, just concaved over and emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl, sinking to his knees as he heaved.  There wasn't much to expel, but his body kept flinching-- back arching, stomach clenching-- as he gagged up nothing but bile.  Hesitantly, Cas stood at the bathroom door, nose crinkling at the smell.  He turned on the light only to regret the decision considering the nasty view.

When he was finally done, Dean panted, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain of the seat, shuddering pitifully.  Fumbling, he groped blindly for the lever, and flushed what had to be an entire bottle of whiskey down the toilet.  He let out a groan, hapless and helpless, sitting like a puppet who'd had its string cut in the middle of Castiel's bathroom. 

"That sucked."

"Did you expect it to be fun?"  Cas deadpanned, rubbing gingerly over his back.

"You're fuckin' hilarious, you know that?"  He said with a huff, no venom in his tone, just ragged and wrecked and tired.  He liked the assuring hand at his back.

Cas didn't move his hand, even if the smell was a off putting.  "Yes, I've been told."  Cas said, rummaging through the bathroom cupboard and shoving a bottle of mouthwash at him.  "Drink."

Staring blearily at him for a moment, he took it and twisted the cap off, taking a mouthful and swishing it around, even gargling for a moment, before he was spitting it up into the toilet.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he hissed as he pressed too hard against his still freshly split lip.

"Shit that burns like a bitch," he muttered, tonguing at the wound carefully.

Ensuring the last of the vomit was well and truly gone, Castiel knelt down next to him, turning Dean's face with a gentle prompting.  Inspecting his lips carefully, his brow furrowed.  "Would you like me to help?"

"Uh..."  He breathed, feeling the fingers on his chin with an acute kind of awareness.  "Yeah.  Sure."

"I should have done this sooner.  I don't even want to think about the bacteria in there now."  He muttered, standing Dean up as he rattled around through the cupboards, pulling out a tiny black jar, unlabeled, and reeking of spice.

Dean's brows drew up in bemused surprise, and he hobbled on his bad foot for a moment before leaning against the countertop, biting back a smile that disappeared the second he opened up the jar.  "What the hell is that?"

"Magic."  Cas chuckled, scooping out a smear of ocher yellow gel that looked just as pungent as it smelled.  "Disinfectant, it's a home remedy.  Honey, tumeric, a little vitamin E oil."  He replied, carefully dabbing some of it onto Dean's lip.

Hissing, he flinched away slightly, glaring at the strange goo for a moment before he let Castiel continue.  "You have a lot of these home remedies?"

"A few."  Castiel replied, "Be thankful I'm not using cayenne pepper on you.  Stops bleeding."  He added, careful not to press too hard at his lip.  

Considering for a moment, he stared at Castiel as he worked, gaze softening with affection and gratitude.  "Wanna put some on my foot when we're done?"

"Already crossed my mind.  What did you do to it?"  He said, "And no kissing or chewy foods until that heals.”

"Broken glass.  I stepped on a piece when my dad-- uh.  Yesterday."  He muttered.

Unconsciously, Castiel's grip tightened on the sink, replacing the jar carefully.  "Sit up for me."  He said, voice a little tense at the cause of all of this.

Shifting, Dean pulled himself up onto the counter, swinging his injured foot up into his lap and peeling his shoe off.  Wincing at the sight of a bloodied sock, he gave a soft sigh, and slowly started working it off; he did his best to be careful as the material tugged at the wound that was just a little too deep and a little too wide for safety.  Inspecting the wound carefully, Castiel made a displeased huffing sound, prodding at it as gingerly as he could.

"This should have stitches."  He said, looking up at him.  "And I think you missed a fragment."

"I can't go to the hospital, Cas."  He told him, voice soft, and his toes wiggled.  "Do you have a pair of tweezers?  I can get it out if you're too squeamish."

"I can do it.  I've seen worse."  He replied, moving to fetch a roll of bandages, a pair of tweezers and a dish, handing the latter to Dean.  "Fill that for me.  Warm water."  He said, voice taking on a certain commanding tone.

"Sir, yes, sir."  He muttered, smiling lopsidedly as he twisted and turned on the warm tap.  Fingers under the stream, he waited until it heated up, and then filled the little dish. 

Taking the dish from him with a soft "thank you,” Castiel set it beside him, tearing off a small section of bandage and soaking it so he could clean away the blood around his foot.  Slowly, he wiped the stains away, carefully prodding at the cut until he saw the shine of glass embedded in his skin, picking it out with no warning whatsoever.

" _Jesus fucking christ_ \--!"  Dean flinched, glaring over at Castiel and the shard of glass he'd pulled out, hand rushing to grip at the wrist of the one Cas was holding his ankle with.  " _What the actual fuck_?"

"I had to get it out."  Cas told him, confused as to why he was angry.  "Would you prefer it left in there.  Infections are quite painful."  He added, dropping the glass into the used bandage.

"Yeah, okay, I _know_.  A _warning_ , Cas.  Give a guy a _warning_."  Dean told him, pain ricocheting up his nerve endings.  " _Ow_."

"Sorry."  He muttered, fishing out a bottle of disinfectant and pouring some into the remaining water.  "Fair warning."  He said pointedly, dabbing at the cut with disinfectant, grip tightening to avoid Dean pulling away.

 _"Son of a bitch_ ," he buried his face in one of his hands, shuddering as the chemical burned at the gash.  "Oh, my _god._ You suck so bad right now."

"No, but maybe later."

Going beat red even in his aggravated state, Dean glared at him through his fingers, letting his hand drop as he finished wrapping his foot up.  "Promises, promises."

"Careful on that for a few days."  He said, standing up as he collected the bandage and bloodied glass, disposing of them neatly in the bin next to the toilet.

"You keep bossing me around," Dean replied, letting his foot drop down out of his lap, hands bracing on the edge of the counter as he sat there, watching Castiel move.  "You're kind of a dominant prick sometimes, you know that?"

Cas gave a shrug, finding it difficult to react otherwise to a fact he already knew.  "Why do you think I don't have friends?"

"You've got me," he said, brow furrowing, kicking gently at his thigh.  "And Charlie.  You two have seemed pretty chummy recently."

"You're slowly leaving friend territory, Dean."  He said, pausing a moment as he thought about Charlie.  It was true, they had gotten closer, even if half her pop culture references went over his head.  "And Charlie.  Yes, she counts."

"Yeah," he breathed, glancing down, coy.  "About-- About last night...  I said some things, last night, that I uh..."

A hopeful look lit up Castiel's face, shuffling his feet as Dean spoke.  He was tired of trialing this.  He wanted to be able to kiss him when he wanted, and hold him, and sneak into his room late at night simply because he could.

"I mean, I _meant_ them, but--" he took a deep breath, fingers tightening at the edge.  "Cas, I'm... I'm scared and I... I don't-- I don't know if I _can_."

"Of course you can.  You _have_ been."  Cas said, "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Looking up at him, Dean gave him a sad little smile.  "There's you...  The things I've told you, the way we've let each other in...  We could _ruin_ each other, Cas."

"We could.  But we won't."  He said, nudging at his hand tentatively.

The touch had him moving, hand reaching out and gripping his shirt, tugging Castiel closer.  Head falling forward, he pressed his forehead against his chest, eyes shutting as turmoil rolled through him.  "So much faith."

"One of us has to."  Cas murmured, rubbing over the back of his neck slowly, trying to comfort him.

The was a heavy pause, and Dean let out a soft sigh.  "I should go.  Sam's probably at Bobby's, and I need to make sure he's okay.  Get him home and then get him to school."

He let Dean go, pulling back reluctantly, the hope he had fading fast.  "Tell him I said hello."  He said feebly as Dean tugged on his shoe.

"I will," he replied, sliding off of the countertop, wincing as his foot flared and he limped past him, shivering as he brushed by.  Pausing in the doorway, he glanced over at him.  "Thank you, Cas."

Castiel nodded once in recognition, following him out.  "Bye, Dean."  He said quietly, watching as he left.

Dean winced.  He had never hated being said goodbye to so much in his life.

* * *

 

Castiel’s day had gone by slowly.  Agonizingly slow.  He’d been in a slump for most of it-- spent it hiding in his room, flipping through books of plays that he’d already read a millions times.  When finally got too stir-crazy, he’d ended up moving around his room for the rest of the day, scrubbing his hands through his hair, unable to sit still.  

It had taken hours of indecision and frustrated pacing until Cas finally left to go find Dean again, the day gone, and night settling in.  Gabriel was right; all this beating around the bush was just hurting the both of them, and there was no denying the chemistry.  When he finally got off his ass and turned to leave, his brother shouted a less than inspiring.

"Go get 'em, Cassie!"

The trip to Dean's house was as uneventful as they usually were, slipping over the fence and cracking open Dean's window.  As he climbed into the dark room, Cas' brow furrowed.  Where was he?

He panicked for a moment, recalling the stories from only a day ago about Dean's father, afraid something might have happened.  Taking a moment to compose himself, Castiel shook his head to clear it, ducking out of the window, and into his back yard, deciding to check there before he had to use the front entrance.

"Y'know," Dean's voice had him stalling, and Dean pinned him with a dry stare from his perch, bundled up on the trampoline.  "Breaking and entering is _still_ a crime."

"Only if you choose to press charges."  Cas said a little meekly, walking over to him, halting just in front of the trampoline.

"Point taken," he grinned wanly, expression warm.  "What are you doing here?"

Cas gave a stiff shrug.  "Wanted to see you."  He mumbled, far lamer than he intended.

"Are you just gonna stand there all day?"  He asked, brow ticking up expectantly.

A smile lit up Castiel's face, climbing onto the trampoline with him. "No." He said cheekily.

"Good to know," he laughed softly, a bare foot snaking out from under the blankets to nudge at Castiel's leg.  "I'm sorry for walking out like that this morning."

"You needed to take care of Sam."  He replied, a booted foot tapping gently back at Dean's.

"True.  But it was rude.  Especially considering everything you did for me."  Dean's nose wrinkled faintly.  "No shoes on the trampoline."

Kicking off his boots, Cas laid back next to him, stretching out to get comfortable.  "You needed to go.  I won't blame you for that."

Flopping down unceremoniously, Dean bounced slightly as springs wailed their protest, laying on his side and staring at him with what seemed to be acute fascination.  "I keep running from you.  Why do you keep chasing after me?"

Cas remained on his back, staring at the sky as though it would help him figure out an appropriate answer.  He let out a slow sigh, turning his head to look over at him.  "I can't let you run too far.  You'll never come back."

"You...  really want this, don't you?"  He asked, searching his gaze.  "Want me."

He held Dean's gaze for a moment, nodding slowly.

Dean knew it was a stupid question, knew he shouldn't even bother, but he couldn't help but ask.  "Why?"

The question struck him for a moment, trying to think of a cohesive answer.  "I wasn't aware I needed a reason for wanting you.  I just do."

Scooting a little closer, Dean's eyes flicked down to his mouth a back up, a barely there movement but noticeable.  "I really wanna kiss you right now, but I have it under doctor's orders that I'm not supposed to until my lip heals."

A smile lit up his face, moving closer until he could feel the heat of Dean's body.  "Give it a few more days, and then you can kiss me to your heart’s content."

Offering up an end of the patchwork blanket he was huddled under for Cas to slip beneath, he returned the smile.  "What if I don't want to wait?"

Sliding in next to him, Cas moved until he was nearly pressed up against him, heart rate rising.  "Then you're very impatient."

"I am," he admitted softly, just waiting.  "But I also think I've made you wait long enough."

Humming in agreement, Castiel leaned in, lips brushing just by the corner of his mouth.  "I can wait longer."

" _I_ don't want to wait longer," he whispered, turning his head so that their noses brushed, hands reaching out to catch with his-- the only barrier between them aside from their clothes.  "I don't want to wait anymore, Cas."

It took him a moment to connect the dots, to realize what Dean was saying to him, blinking in shock for a second.  "You don't want to."  He repeated, suddenly feeling very stupid.  Surging forward, Cas pressed their lips together, forgetting about the split in Dean's entirely.

Despite the flare of pain that came, mouth still tender, Dean let out a soft sound against his lips and kissed in return.  Untangling one of his hands, Dean cupped Castiel's jaw and tilted his head, to better slant his lips under Castiel's.  Huffing out a soft breath, Castiel clutched at Dean's shirt, pulling him in and keeping him there as they kissed.  Dean broke it just long enough to suck in a sharp breath before he was kissing him again, fingers tangling in Cas' hair, and legs threading through his until they were all caught up in one another.  Letting out a soft keen, Dean parted his lips invitingly, wanting more.  Wanting everything.

It wasn't as clinical as Cas was used to, there was no ulterior motive.  He was just kissing Dean because he wanted to.  Because for the first time, he _could_.  Curling an arm around his neck, Castiel let his tongue flick over the seam of his lips.

Their tongues met, all of their pent up attraction finally having a proper outlet, as they kissed one another.  Dean hooked his ankle on one of Castiel's, pressed even closer, grappling one another to stay connected, together, to make sure the other didn't run away.  There was a faint moan, and neither knew who made it, but they both swallowed it down like starved men.  Cas felt slightly dizzy by the time he pulled back, panting softly in order to catch his breath.  His eyes opened slowly, meeting vivid green easily, a certain affection shared between them.

"So," Dean finally breathed, fingers shifting slightly in his hair.

Humming softly, Castiel nudged at his nose, clinging to his shirt for dear life.  "Does this make you my boyfriend?"

"Well, I never was one for labels," he bantered softly, giving a playful shrug.  "But if that's what you're planning on calling me, sure."

"Neither am I."  He admitted, curling an arm around his waist, comfortably pressed against him.

"Does that mean you're _my_ boyfriend?"  Dean asked, teasing but half-serious.

Castiel paused for a moment, considering it.  A smile curled his lips as he nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.  It seemed nearly surreal, after waiting what felt like an age for this to happen.  "If this is a dream, please don't wake me."

"I won't as long as you return the favor." 

Cas all but beamed at him, burrowing into his neck and latching onto him.

Chuckling, Dean carded his fingers through his hair, hiding his smile in his hair.  "Sorry for making you wait."

The reply Cas gave was muffled to the point of inaudibility, limbs looping around him, keeping him in place.

"Cas," he chided, laughter staining his voice.  "C'mon, I'm not going anywhere, you monkey."

From within the warmth of Dean's neck, a muffled "no" could be heard, nuzzling his neck softly, enjoying the warmth they shared as a cool wind blew across them.

Curling up into him, he grinned broadly and lopsidedly, not wanting to be let go anymore than Cas wanted to let him go.  "I didn't know it was this bad."  He teased.

Lifting his head, Castiel pressed an affectionate kiss to his cheek.  "I'm just making up for the weeks you had me waiting."

Nudging at his cheek, he kissed his lips, chaste and almost teasing.  "I can always make you wait longer if you'd like."

Castiel nearly pouted at the idea, squeezing at his shoulder a little harder, as though Dean would leave.  "Please don't do that."

"Cas," he breathed, awed by the desperate hand on him, by the fact that someone could want him so much.  "I was joking."

"I knew that," Cas mumbled, looking up at him, a little sheepish as he loosened his grip.  He swallowed thickly, shifting against Dean, soaking up the heat they shared.

"So we're a thing now," he said, smiling crookedly at the way Castiel loosened his grip, only to scoot ever closer.  He liked being all tangled with him, caught up in one another.  He let his fingers trail down the back of his neck.  "Boyfriends."

Cas let his eyes flutter shut as fingers trailed his neck, enjoying the intimacy they shared after years of shutting people out.  "We're a thing now."  He agreed, voice uncharacteristically soft as he let Dean handle him.

Dean's expression softened, almost vulnerable, as he gazed at him.  Fingers brushed over his features, simultaneously admiring and disbelieving. Cas gave a soft hum, letting any pretense he still wore drop, gripping loosely at Dean's shoulder, making no protest whatsoever as to how he moved.

"You're beautiful," he said, soft, almost to himself as fingers trailed down his cheek.

Cas opened one eye to look at him, nearly disbelieving for a moment.  "You're biased."

"Oh?"  Dean chortled.  "I am, am I?"

"Hm.  You're terribly biased."  He said, a small smile on his face, the kind that softened an otherwise stoic face.  "You'll tell me anything."

"And why would I do that?"  Dean asked, curious despite himself.

Cas tilted his head in mild confusion, as though it was a stupid question.  "It's what you do, isn't it?  You tell people what they want to hear, and they'll be nice to you."

"Uh-- _No_.  No, Cas."  He shook his head, cupping his jaw.  "I don't care if you're nice to me, Castiel.  You're beautiful.  I don't care if you want to hear it or not, it's how I feel.  I'm not going to lie to you."

The explanation only confused him further, brow furrowing further, because people _always_ wanted something, and they'd do anything to get it.  "But there's nothing in it for you.  I don't...  Why would you say that, you gain nothing."

"To say it," he replied in a breath, thumb brushing his cheek.  "Because it's true."

It went against everything he'd seen, everything he'd been taught about people, but for some reason, Castiel found himself in complete belief in what Dean was saying. Maybe he did mean it, and maybe people didn't lie through their teeth all the time. Maybe some of the few compliments he'd received over time were true. A soft smile replaced his confusion, leaning into the hand at his cheek. "Because you want to."

"Because I want to," he echoed back, smiling as Castiel understood what he was saying.

Resting himself securely back against Dean's neck, he gave a soft hum, nuzzling him slowly.

"Is there going to be a lot of this then?"  He asked, holding back another laugh.  Jesus, Cas was like an attention starved cat.  "Not that I'm complaining."

"I don't get to be close to people often, so yes, there will be."  He mumbled, voice muffled against Dean neck.

"You can be close to me all you like," Dean replied, snuggling up more securely to him, pulling the blanket tighter around them.  "I don't mind a bit."

Giving a soft hum of approval, Castiel stilled against him, soaking in the warmth they shared. It took him a moment to relax, half expecting Dean to pull away again, slowly, he let out a long breath, snuggled against his side, in complete trust of him.

Staring up at the fading light in the sky, Dean tangled their fingers together, enjoying the presence of Castiel there next to him.  “So did you skip school today too?”

"Yeah.  Was only a few classes."  He mumbled, "I had better things to do."

"Bobby called me in sick for both days yesterday,"  Dean said, fingers tightening briefly.  "Apparently, he figured I would need the recuperating time."

Squeezing at his hand softly, grateful for the connection, Castiel nodded his understanding.  "He's a smart man."

"Bobby?  Yeah.  But don't let him hear you say it."  Dean informed him, nudging into his side.

"Why not?"  He asked, curious despite himself.

"He's the roughest son of a bitch I've ever met.  Soft heart and sharp mind, but the second you point it out, it's like you kicked his puppy."

Cas let out a snort of a laugh, a wicked looking smile on his face.  "I'll remember that."

"Good to hear.  I'd rather like for my boyfriend to get along with my family."  He commented mildly, liking the way it tasted on his tongue.  "Sam already likes you.  Now we just have to worry about the rest of them."

"At least you don't have to try as hard with mine."  Cas said, mostly joking despite the topic.

"Especially not with Gabriel."  He added slyly, recalling a possessive hand on his shoulder the day previous-- though, at the time, he'd been too obliviously drunk to read into it.

Cas gave a faint huff of discontent, "No, he seems to like you just fine."

"Oh?"  His brows shot up, and he had to force himself to stop from smiling.  "I hadn't noticed."

He clung to Dean a little tighter, clutching at his shoulder again.  "I have."

"And?"  Dean shifted back away from him, just enough to meet his gaze.  "How does that make you feel?"

Cas hesitated for a moment, pondering his own emotional climate.  "Mildly jealous."  He replied after a moment, a faint furrow between his brows.

"Really?"  Dean perked at that, something in him preening with the knowledge that Castiel got jealous of others because of him.

"I think that's the word, yes."  He replied, not quite sure if the angry flare he felt every time Gabriel's misfortunate flirting was mentioned was jealousy, or just brotherly competition...  Was there even a difference?

Dean made a small sound, grinning to himself.  "Awesome."

"How so?"

"It just means you like me a lot," he provided.  "Which is awesome."

It took him a minute to process, but eventually, Cas found himself nodding in agreement, tucking his face back into Dean's neck.

"Jesus, Cas."  He laughed, though there was a warm flush beginning to burn on his cheeks.  "You just gonna hide there all night?"

A muffled "Yes," could be heard from the warmth of Dean's neck, nestled close to him. "S'cold." He lied.

"Gonna do anything else?"  Dean shivered, repressing a ticklish squirm.  "Or should I just get comfortable as is?"

Castiel raised his head, eyes narrowing as he felt Dean shiver, nudged at his neck with a curious nose. He ignored Dean's question in favour of watching for his reaction.

Twitching, Dean bit back a laugh, shifting slightly away as nerves sparked. 

A near wicked grin parted his lips, prodding at his neck with gentle finger.  "What have we here?"

Jerking away from the finger, he made a face, eyes narrowing.  "Nothing."

The grin on his face softened to something far more amused, prodding experimentally at Dean's sides.  "I wouldn't call this nothing."

His body reacted before he could stop it, contracting away from Cas' seeking fingers, the blanket that had been wrapped around them falling to pool at their hips as he slapped at Castiel's hands.  "It's nothing."  He insisted, having to swallow down another laugh.

Cas let out a chuckle as Dean tried to squirm away, long fingers skating over warm skin, enjoying the way he laughed.

A giggle bubbled up past Dean's lips, and he tried to push his hands away as his shirt rode up.  But, as always when someone was being tickled, his energy was drawn away to the contracting muscles that tried to jerk away from Castiel's hands.  "Cas!"

Before long, Castiel was laughing along with him, prodding and tickling at his sides, grinning as he battered at his hands. There was something adorable about the way Dean laughed, and he'd never get tired of it.  Dean bucked, straining, trying to get away from the hands that were doing cruel things to his body.  Head tossed back, he laughed helplessly until there were tears in his eyes, squirming and wriggling, trying to twist away.  

Slowly, Castiel relented, finding himself perched on Dean's lap, flushing a brilliant red as he realized the rather compromising position they ended up in.  Chuckles dying down, Dean stared up at him, chest rising and falling unevenly, eyes bright with mirth.  Dean was disheveled; his hair was mussed, his skin warm and pink, a smile permanently painted on his lips, and his shirt askew.  His hands were settled over Castiel's forearms, gripping loosely, and he found himself beneath him with a lap full of local rebellion.

"All blush and no bite," he muttered, breathy and adoring, tinged with bemusement.

Cas squirmed a little at the mild jibe, returning his smile a little sheepishly as he tried to will away the flush on his cheeks.  "Shut up."  He grumbled, resting his hands at Dean's shoulders.

"Why?  It's true."  Dean quipped, hands slipping down to loop loosely around his wrists.  "Unless, of course, you're planning on proving otherwise."

Castiel gave a soft shrug, their usual banter suddenly feeling awkward.  It wasn't just teasing anymore, or playful little jibes that never amounted to anything except a few colourful mental images.  There was so much potential for their teasing to become so much more.  Swallowing thickly, he shifted again, suddenly nervous.  "If you'd like me to."

"If-- If you'd like to," Dean stammered, feeling the weight settle between them palpable and thick.  There was a large difference between the lighthearted quips from before, and the limitless opportunity they had to actually follow through with it now.

Painfully aware of the tension settled between them, Dean leant up, lingering close for a moment, as though checking that this was okay.  Hands shaking slightly, Dean kissed him, slow and tentative, settling a hand at his cheek to keep it from quaking too much.  Inhaling sharply, Cas tilted his head to properly slot their mouths together, eyes fluttering shut.  Dean’s free hand came up to clutch at his shirt, humming against his lips.  Dean liked this.  Being able to kiss like this.  Being able to have Castiel kiss him like this.

The hand at Castiel’s cheek twitched faintly, nerves easing a he grew more and more familiar with the way he moved, how he tasted.  A soft whine escaped Cas, enjoying the way their lips met.  Pressing more firmly, Dean nipped at Castiel's lower lip, the sound Castiel let out only spurring him on as he tangled his fingers back into his hair.  Dean arched up slightly, gasping between kisses, mouths working together in a slow heat.  Eventually, Cas had to pull back, panting for a moment, staring down at him with a soft smile on his face, taking Dean's face in his hands.

Dean smiled in return, eyes alight with something like fondness.  "What?"

Cas didn't answer, much preferring the press of their lips, an underlying heat that wasn't present before lingering between them.  Humming, Dean beamed against his lips, tugging him closer by the shirt.  Castiel went easily, following the tug at his shirt, moving to better accommodate the body underneath him.  Tentatively, he let his hands move from Dean's jaw, sliding down his neck and over the ridge of his collarbones.

Dean was aware of every single touch, of the hands traveling down his skin until the met the open collar of his shirt, and it coaxed a whimper from him-- almost needy as his lips parted under Castiel's.  Long fingers fanned out, still shaking slightly as they moved over Dean's body, learning the structure of his muscles, and the steady beat of his heart.

"We should--" Dean managed between one kiss and another.  "We should stop."  His breath caught as fingers brushed over the skin of his stomach, and his face went red as heat flooded through him, coiling threateningly.  "I, uh, there's-- this is-- before I--"

Castiel pulled back with no complaint, though the second he stopped, he missed the feeling of lips on his.  He didn't move his hands,  skirting over the bared skin of his stomach, "Before we do something stupid."

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding, staring at him for a long moment; Dean was pulling him back in for another kiss before he could stop himself.  "Something stupid."

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine."  Cas said, nearly inaudible, a flush burning his cheeks at his own cheesiness.  It was one thing to sprout Shakespeare, but it was another entirely for it to be so terribly sappy.

Breath catching, a smile twitched briefly on Dean's lips, nudging at Cas' nose.  "Finish it."

Part of him was dearly hoping Dean wouldn't recognize the passage, would just call him weird and forget it.  But there was something terribly satisfying about being asked to recite what he'd learnt for someone.  "My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."  He said softly, voice quite, as though afraid to be heard.

Nudging at Cas' nose, Dean felt warmth blossom in his chest, and he nervously cleared his throat-- not skilled in recitation, but knowing the words.  "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch," he caught one of Castiel's hands in his, finger lined up with finger.  "And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

All the air went out of him, nearly stammering as Dean caught his hand.  A goofy looking smile lit up his face, nudging gently at his nose in return.  "Have not saints lips, and holy palmer too?"

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."  He threaded their fingers together, eyes alight.

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."  He returned, squeezing his hand gently, lips brushing softly.

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."

"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.  Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."  He returned, surprised that Dean knew this much.

Leaning up, Dean kissed him, slow and sure, lingering for a long moment, lips still touching as he spoke, voice soft and barely there.  "Then have my lips the sin that they have took."

"Sin from thy lips?  O trespass sweetly urged!"  He smiled, letting the hand still at his stomach move over warm flesh.  "Give me my sin again."  He finished, closing the gap between them and kissing him slowly.

Moaning, faint but definitely there, Dean canted his head to deepen the kiss, arching into Cas' touch with a shiver as his fingers tightened in Castiel's hand and hair.  The very faint sound Dean gave only served to spur him on despite the very subtle warning bells flaring in the back of his mind.  Head spinning, Cas smoothed a curious hand over his stomach, feeling the contours of his body.  Another sound escaped Dean as he rolled into the touch, muscles flexing and stretching as he shifted beneath him, addicted to the taste of his mouth and the hand on his skin.  Shivering, he pressed closer, arched, like an offering, flicking his tongue out over the roof of Castiel's mouth.

Castiel disentangled their hands, pulling at whatever skin was in reach, over his collarbone, and down the neckline of his shirt, nearly complaining about the restriction.  Curling his hands into the soft material of his shirt to keep from roaming too far and doing something stupid.  Finally breaking their kiss, Dean panted against his lips, eyes shut tight as they lay there.  His heart was pounding so hard, so fast, that was certain Castiel could hear every beat.  He kept Cas close, one hand sunk deep in his hair as the other clutched at a shoulder, not wanting to let him go.  Wanting more, but fearful of the desire, of pushing too quickly, of being out of his depth.

A satisfied smile curled over his lips as he looked down at Dean, pressing a hand over his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart.  Nudging carefully at his nose, Castiel settled more comfortably over him, breath evening out.

Letting his eyes flutter open, Dean kissed him chastely, "So does that make you my Romeo?"

"I hope not."  He mumbled, flushing faintly at the mention.  "I'd rather it if we didn't end up dead in a crypt."

"That'd be a good thing to avoid," Dean laughed faintly, stroking through his hair.  "Though, I wouldn't mind being your Juliet."

"You look more like a Tybalt, or a Macbeth."  Cas smiled, tilting his head back against the hand in his hair.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"  Dean grinned, roguish and charming in a boyish sort of way.

Castiel regarded him for a moment, nudging gently at his nose.  "I think its a good thing.  But Juliet's nice too."

Snorting, he rolled his eyes playfully, though in the fading light it was harder to see.  "Thanks.  Glad to know I'm _nice_ no matter what, Prince Charming."

Cas gave him a flat look, rolling off him to land in a heap next to Dean, pulling the patchwork blanket around them both.  "Don't expect me to climb your hair or anything, Princess."  He teased.

"Not long enough for that," he replied mildly, settling in and hesitating only a moment before he pressed close-- one leg hitched over Castiel's, an arm slipping around his waist, a hand tangling with his, and his face nudging against his jaw-- eyes shutting as he got more comfortable under the blanket.  "But I wouldn't object to being kissed awake."

"But you might object to being out into a hundred year sleep."  Castiel said evenly, squeezing the hand in his softly.

"Definitely,"  he hummed.  "I don't need _that_ much beauty sleep."

"You don't need any."  Castiel mumbled, so quiet Dean wouldn't have heard if he wasn't so close.

Blushing a pretty color, but hid it under Castiel's chin.  "You callin' me beautiful, Cas?"

"Maybe," he replied, a shy smile on his face.

"You really think so?"

Looking at him, Cas nodded, ignoring his flush at the admission. His own embarrassment could wait.

Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Dean swallowed thickly, face warm.  "Thank you."

Castiel offered a warm smile in response, brushing his thumb over Dean's lower lip to pull it carefully from between his teeth.  "You're welcome."

Leaning into his touch, breath catching slightly, his eyes shut slowly.  "You're gonna spoil the hell out of me, aren't you?"

The hand at his chin moved to rest comfortably against Dean's cheek, thumb stroking gently.  "Probably."  Cas admitted, squeezing at his hand softly.

"Can't say I'll mind," he muttered, pressing into his hand blindly, wincing faintly as his bruise flared in agitation.

He pulled his hand away upon noticing Dean's wince, relocating it to settle over his chest.  "Of course you wouldn't."

Humming, he inhaled deeply, pressing closer.  He hesitated for only a moment, voice soft and barely audible when he spoke.  "Stay?"

Castiel hadn't intended on staying the night, but nothing he intended ever seemed to happen anymore. "I'll stay."

"Thank you," he breathed, curling into him, feeling fatigue set in-- from the abuse of yesterday and the stress that he'd been under for months about everything-- finding a safe haven in his hold.  "And you can break in anytime you like, you know.  If you'd like."

"I'll remember that."  Cas said, keeping quiet to avoid rousing him, feeling his breathing deepen as Dean grew tired.  He kept him secure, held tight as they shared each others warmth. 


	11. I'll Wait a Lifetime to Give In to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of child abuse

It was early morning by the time Castiel woke, drawn from a peaceful sleep by a leg twitching against his.  Blinking slowly, he yawned, laying back against the trampoline as the last remnants of sleep left him, a lazy smile on his face as he watched Dean's sleeping face, lax, and frankly adorable despite the little pool of drool he'd left on Cas' shirt.

The change in the rise and fall pattern Dean’s pillow had taken on during the night was what woke him, but he refused to open his eyes even as he stirred slightly.  The hand that was resting on Castiel's chest shifted, sliding further around him until he was hugging him close and keeping him tight, as if worried that he'd leave now that he was awake.  One of those half-awake fears that he was certain to be embarrassed by once he finally achieve full consciousness. 

Castiel let Dean cling, letting a hand drift over the back of his neck slowly, watching him wake up.  Shifting slightly, Castiel traced out the hairline at the back of his neck, far too comfortable in the warmth to move.

Shivering, Dean nosed into the cotton of his shirt, inhaling the scent of him.  "What're y'doing?"

"Enjoying the morning."  Cas replied, voice rough from lack of use.

Groaning softly, he nuzzled ever closer, unwilling to move much from the position he was in, and he laughed deliriously in his morning bliss.  "You have sex-voice."

"Thank you, for that charming observation."  Cas deadpanned, trying to keep a straight face as Dean laughed.

"Nah," he grinned, finally managing to force himself to open up his eyes, resting his chin on his chest as he stared at him.  "Charming is your territory, remember?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, prodding playfully at his neck.  "Only when it needs to be."

Flinching away, he gave him a warning look, not in the mood to be tickled so early.  "What happened to kissing me awake?"

Raising his hand in a defensive gesture, Castiel offered him a smile.  "I wanted to let you sleep."

"Softie," he muttered affectionately, fingers curling into the cotton of his shirt.

"Me?  Never."  Cas muttered, squeezing the hand still in his.

"Liar."

Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, Castiel gave him a pointed look.  "Yes, sometimes.  But you're the only one that knows it."

"Good," he hummed, kissing him again.  "I like being the one who knows things about you that no one else does."

A small smile curved Cas’ lips, going lax against their makeshift bed, a contented look on his face.

"Did you sleep okay?"  Dean asked curiously, enjoying the languid way they were still lounging together.

Cas hummed his agreement, idly tracing over his shoulder.  "Comfortably, yes.  You?"

"Yeah," he smiled, shivering at the gentle touches.  "Yeah, it was good."

"You drool, by the way."  Cas informed, blunt as ever.

"And I am completely unapologetic about it," he quipped, far too used to the way Castiel spoke.

He gave a soft huff, squeezing his shoulder gently.  "And they call me cold."

Frowning as fingers stopped tracing idle patterns against his bicep, he plucked at his shirt, thumb brushing over the small stain he'd left in the night.  "Pretty warm if you ask me."

"Only when I want to be."  He countered, noticing his frown and resuming the soft trace against his arm.

"Ah," he grinned, letting his own fingers trail up the side of Castiel's neck.  "And you want to be warm with me."

Humming softly, his eyes fell shut, a familiar contented sensation rushing through him, happy as he lay there.  "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

The look on his face and the sound he made left Dean feeling tingly and warm.  Cas was happy.  Cas was happy and with him.  Dean might even go so far as to say Cas was happy _because_ of him. 

Leaning down, he kissed the spot he touched, tentative as he followed after the brush of his fingers-- gentle, lingering presses of his lips against Castiel's skin.  A low, rumbling hum left Castiel, tilting his head back ever so slightly, content to give Dean free reign.  A sleepy looking smile turned Cas' mouth as lips pressed along his neck, shivering at the gesture.  Pausing once he reached his jaw, Dean pulled back, eyes alight and curious but worried maybe he shouldn't have done that.  Cas opened his eyes to peer at him, nudging encouragingly at his arm.

Smiling briefly, he leaned back in, lips brushing up along his neck.  He could feel Castiel’s pulse.  Feel the way his throat worked when he swallowed.  Feel the heat of his skin.  It was addicting as all hell.  Hesitantly, he nipped at the spot below his ear.  Cas’ eyes slid shut again, groaning very faintly, tensing faintly with the sharp sting only to relax as he felt warm breath ghost soothingly against his neck.

"How far are we taking this?" 

The question brought him out of the pleasured little bubble he'd put himself into, shutting everything save for Dean out.  Letting a hand drift to the back of his head, Cas gave a small grunt, enjoying this far too much for it to stop now, though he knew that maybe they should.  Swallowing thickly, he opened his eyes, looking down at him as best he could from this angle.  "Until we deem it uncomfortable.  I'd still be happy if we never went any further than this."

Dean met his gaze, pulling back to look down at Cas from where he was practically perched on top of him.  Cupping the side of his face, he shivered as Castiel's fingers twisted in the short hair at the base of his skull, and brushed his own thumb over the line of Cas' cheekbone.

"I've uh... I've never really been interested in doing those kinds of things with other people.  I mean, I've been interested, but not enough to actually do them."  He watched as Castiel's expression fell slightly, and he leaned down to kiss it away.  "So this is about as much experience as I have-- aside from getting gropey in the backseat of my Impala one or two times.  But I--"  Dean cleared his throat, settling more firmly against him, soaking up the heat he had to offer.  "I _do_ want those things.  And I'm pretty sure I want them with you."

"Then we'll have to slow things down a little."  Cas said, any previous disappointment replaced with simple acceptance, though he made a mental reminder to put his libido on the backburner.

“A little,” he admitted, clearing his throat, feeling both awkward and apologetic-- like he'd lead Cas into thinking he was a sure thing, and he was letting him down now that the older boy knew he wasn't.  “Not too much.  I mean, we can do things.  Like this.  More than this, if you'd want.  And if things get a little too heated for me, I'll say so.  Is that-- How do you feel about that?”

"You don't have to compromise for me."  Cas said softly, "If something makes you uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop."

"I'm not uncomfortable now," he bantered, trying to lighten the seriousness of it, leaning down and pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips, lingering in his space.  "Or now."

Cas smiled at him, tracking idle patterns over his arm again.  "Neither am I."

"Good," he hummed, far too pleased.  "Then you won't mind if I take another--"

"Dean!"  Sam's voice cut into their moment, and Dean dropped his forehead against Castiel's chest as he pulled away from his lips.  "What's for breakfast?"

The hand curled into the back of Dean's head dropped in mild disappointment, huffing as he recognised their interruption.  "Get your own."  He grumbled back, hardly loud enough for Sam to hear.

Dean's chuckle was hidden against the soft material of Castiel's t-shirt and he peered up at him mirthfully.  "You want anything in particular, Cas?"

"I'd like to stay here."  Cas mumbled, face dropping into Dean's hair.

"You can stay as long as you like," Dean replied warmly.  "What would you like to _eat_?"

Lifting his head again, Cas gave a shrug, shifting underneath him, leaning back in to press a warm kiss to his forehead.  "I'd be happy with a cup of coffee."

"I can do that," he breath, eyes fluttering shut briefly.  "I can definitely do--"

" _Dean!_ "

"Oh, myfuckinggod--"  Dean pulled away from Castiel's hold regretfully, turning to pin his little brother with a glare.  " _What_?"

"Stop making out with your boyfriend, already.  I'm _starving_."  Sam whined.

"Children in Africa are starving, Sam, you're just _annoying._ "  He griped, blankets pooled around his waist.  "Go inside and watch the news or something, I'll be there in a minute."

Rolling his eyes, Sam turned and walked away, huffing and slamming the sliding glass door with as much force as a thirteen year old could muster.  Dean let out a soft sound, amused but irritated, and he looked over his shoulder at Castiel with an apologetic smile. 

"We were in the middle of something, weren't we?"

"Yeah, kinda."  Cas mumbled, kissing him fleetingly as he slipped from under him, sitting up with a slow roll of his shoulders, arching his spine, stiff from so long in one place.

The kiss was far too short, and his boyfriend-- _really, that's never going to get old_ \-- was far too tempting.  Scooching closer, Dean turned Cas to face him, and he pressed a long, lingering kiss to his lips.  "We should definitely finish it then."

He hummed softly, curling a tentative arm around Dean's waist, returning his kiss easily.  "Your brother’s gonna get pissy."  Cas mumbled, half-hearted as he kissed him again, slow and measured, savouring the feeling of his lips.

"My brother is always pissy," Dean muttered, returning another kiss, hand coming up to cup Castiel's jaw as lips slanted over his.

Pulling him in closer, uncaring about the mild morning breath they both had, Cas clutched at the soft cotton covering his hip, not quite brave enough to move it out of the way.  Dean let out a small sound at the back of his throat, hand slipping back into Castiel's hair, shuddering at the potential of the hand on him-- he could feel the warmth through the material.  The sound Dean gave, the brush of fingers through his hair broke whatever restraint Cas had reserved, pushing his shirt out of the way, letting his hands drift up Dean's back.

Breath catching, Dean arched into him, muscle bunching and flexing beneath the hands that ran up over him, spine curving as he pressed a faint moan to his lips.  His fingers curled reflexively, nails scratching over Castiel’s scalp as he was pulled ever closer, and he was incredibly tempted to just crawl into his lap.  Mostly smooth skin met Cas’ hands, warm and soft as curious fingers inspected all that was within reach, tracing out his vertebrae, the flex of his muscles.  It was as though he'd let his body take over, pulling Dean in, possessive, and needy like he hadn't been with anyone before.

Straddling his thighs, Dean settled above him, licking his way into Castiel's mouth as he was manhandled close.  Tugging gently at dark hair, Dean flicked his tongue over the roof of his mouth, and their kiss grew more and more heated.  It made something twist in him, something aching and hot, and Dean had to swallow down another sound, feeling like he was being far too noisy as it was.  Pulling back, Cas panted softly, dragging his lips down the line of Dean's jaw, pulling him in as he settled over his thighs, having to force himself not to grind up against him.

Dean's breath came to him uneven and bated, sharp intakes as their chests pressed together, as Castiel's mouth moved over his skin.  Cursing softly, one of his hands cupped the back of Cas' head, fingers still tangled deep in his hair, and the other hand dropped to clutch at the material at his back, tugging it up ever so slightly-- as if wanting to pull it off of him to get at the skin beneath.  Shaking slightly, Dean gave a subtle roll of his hips, knowing they should stop, should ease off, but _wanting_ more than anything.

The faint warning flashing in the back of his mind was abruptly made clear as Dean pulled at his shirt.  It couldn't go this far.  Not quite yet.  Panting against his neck, Castiel pulled back, reluctant as he looked up at him, arching his spine to take Dean's hands away.  "Are we really doing this now?"

 _Yes_ , he wanted to say.  Wanted to lean back in and kiss him until they were both dizzy with it, wanted to peel Castiel's shirt up and over his head to get at the flesh beneath it, wanted to rock against him over and over until they were both coming in their jeans.

Swallowing thickly, he shook his head, fingers carding gently through Castiel's hair as Dean shifted back-- still in his lap, just at a safer distance-- pressing into the hands that were still up his shirt as his pulse pounded.  "No.  No, we shouldn't.  We're uh... It's too fast, right?  We should probably slow down?"

Stroking idly down the length of Dean's spine, Castiel nodded hesitantly, wanting nothing more than to forget the warning and keep going.  "We don't have to."  He mumbled, against his better judgement.

"I don't want to," Dean admitted, back arching at the gentle touches; his eyes strayed back down to Castiel's mouth, and he shivered.  "But we probably should."

"We probably should." Cas agreed, slipping his hands from up Dean's shirt, nudging softly at his nose, letting out a shaky breath to calm himself.

Biting back the whine that wanted to bubble up as hands slid away from his skin, he slipped out of his lap, bare feet landing in half-dead grass.  Resting his hands on Castiel's knees, he tugged gently at his jeans.  "Come on.  Let's go in."

Suddenly very cold without Dean, Cas rolled his shoulders, sliding off the trampoline to follow him, leaning in close for a moment to whisper to him.  "We can finish later."

Dean's breath caught, pupils blowing wide as he flushed a deep color.  "That's a definite possibility.”

Chuckling softly, Castiel made his way, barefoot, into Dean's house, rubbing a hand through his hair in pointless effort to make it sit flat.

Watching him walk away, Dean followed, feeling desire still coiled in him.  It wasn't fair how much he wanted to reach out and touch him.  Letting out a soft sigh, he shut the sliding glass door and moved over to the fridge.  If he focused on making breakfast, he wouldn’t focus on how good it had felt to be pressed up against him, groping and kissing.  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he bent down to look in, spotting eggs and milk and wondering if he had any potatoes and tortillas for breakfast burritos.

Leaning lazily against the kitchen counter, Cas watched Dean work, taking a less than secretive peak at his ass when he bent to look into the fridge, humming his approval.

Pulling out all of the ingredients he needed, he glanced over at Castiel and offered up a smile.  "Hey.  Reach into the cabinet above your head and grab the two large pans for me?”

Nodding once, Castiel did as asked, hunting through the cupboard and pulling out the necessary pans, shirt lifting as he reached, setting them on the table.

"Thanks," Dean let his eyes stray to the skin he wanted nothing more than to lick, and Dean quickly busied himself with pulling out a cutting board and a bag of potatoes.  "Do you wanna crack the eggs for me?  Or cut these?"

"You'll turn me into a domestic."  Cas chuckled, picking up a knife with practiced dexterity not borne of cooking, taking a potato.  "What do you need done?"

"Dice them."  He replied, grabbing a bowl and cracking the eggs open on the lip.  "Not too big, not too little."

Castiel set to work, taking a moment to adapt his knife work to fit kitchen service rather than lock picking.  "Y'know this is probably the closest to cooking I've ever been."

"Yeah?"  Dean glanced his way and then made a faint tsking sound as he moved over close, hand coming to rest over Castiel's as he changed the motion-- rocking it back and forth over the board in an almost swaying motion-- and the other rested at his hip as he peered over his shoulder.  "Don't hack.  Chop."

Looking over at him, mildly confused by his advice, Castiel altered his technique to fit Dean's instructions.  "I've always found hacking to be much more efficient."

"Not if you want a clean cut," he replied, giving him a look, but it quickly faded into a smile.  "I kinda like domestic you."

Cas shrugged, nudging at his hip playfully.  "I think I prefer take away."

"Not for long.  You'll fall in love with my cooking, yet."  Dean hummed, stealing a piece of raw potato and popping it into his mouth as he moved away, trusting Castiel to finish the job on his own.  "Make them a little smaller, and we're golden."

"Aren't potatoes poisonous raw?"  Cas said, chopping potatoes with all the finesse of a kindergartener.  Cooking, he decided was not like picking locks.

"Fuck no.  I've been eating raw potato all my life, and I've never once gotten sick."  Dean huffed out a laugh, moving the pans onto the stove with a clatter.  Turning it on, he grabbed the bowl and poured the eggs out into the non-stick pan. 

Humming softly, Castiel scrapped the knife clean as he finished chopping.  "I heard they were.  Apparently not."

"Brings those over here for me?"  He waved him over, grabbing a spatula as he shifted the eggs around. 

Carrying the chopping board over, he set it as Dean asked, watching him cook with an oddly fond expression.  Grabbing the cutting board, Dean slid the potatoes into the open pan, reaching over to grab the spices he needed.  Easy movements, practiced and familiar, guided him as he added salt and pepper and chili powder to both skillets.  Turning the eggs on low, he sifted the potatoes around, wanting them to brown before the eggs cooked all the way.  Glancing Castiel's way, his brow quirked up, and he smiled curiously.

"What?"

He made no attempt to hide his expression, watching the way Dean worked, like it was the kind of thing he could watch for the rest of his life, every morning.  He gave a slight shrug, leaning against the bench.  "Just watching."

"Well," he grinned to himself, gaze dropping back to the food in front of him.  "If you get tired of watching, you can always grab me the shredded cheese from the fridge-- and then set the table for us."

Suddenly feeling a little stupid for just standing around, Cas shuffled off to do as he was asked, surprisingly obedient despite his general nature.  It took him little time to locate the cheese, most fridges being organised in a similar fashion, riffling through his drawers with the practiced ease of someone familiar with silverware, setting three places on Dean's kitchen table.

"Will you watch these for me for a second?"  Dean called over to him, scrambling the eggs to near perfection.

Cas nodded a little warily, coming back over to him, and watching over the eggs as he'd been asked.  "I warn you.  Last time I tried to cook, I blew up the microwave."

"I have faith in you," he teased, but his expression was soft as he moved over to the pantry.  Digging around, he pulled out a packet of tortillas and wandered back over to the stove where Castiel stood.  Leaning over his shoulder, he hesitantly rested his chin there, shoulder nudging at the middle of his back.  "You _can_ stir them around, you know."

The chin at his shoulder broke him out of his intense staring match with a pan full of eggs.  "I'd better leave that to you."  He said, gingerly prodding at the spoon, as though it would bite.

Laughing, he pressing his mouth against his shoulder, hiding his smile.  Nudging him gently out of the way, he plucked up the spatula and shuffled the eggs around, tossing the tortillas on the countertop next to the stove.  Opening up the bag of shredded cheese, he sprinkled it onto the eggs, folding them over. 

"Go back to the first cabinet for me and grab the large, flat pan.  Bring it over here and put it on the back burner, start heating up the tortillas."  He said, a command and not a question.

"I love it when you get all demanding."  Cas deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from his words as he moved to do as asked, retrieving the pan and smacking it down onto the burner, peering at the tortillas for a moment, before starting to heat them through.  This would be the first and last time he cooked.

"Don't be a baby," he huffed, rolling his eyes.  "You boss me around all the time."

"Older, wiser, smarter."  Cas drawled, nudging at his hip again.

"No," Dean scoffed, but there was a smile on his face.  "You just like telling me what to do-- control freak.  You know, I bet you're just like this in bed.  You've _really_ gotta loosen up a bit."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, leaning in until he was almost uncomfortably close.  "And how do you propose to 'loosen me up'?”  He asked, voice low as he let his fingertips drag over Dean's hip.

Swallowing past his nervousness, he met his gaze, their noses almost brushing as he leaned into the touch.  "Oh, I'm sure I could think of a few ways."

"Tell me."  Cas said, no question in his tone, tilting his head to let his lips brush over Dean's ever so slightly.

"I've always been better at show rather than tell.  The _things_ I would do to you," he replied, hovering for a moment before he pulled away, turning the stove off and grabbing the pan of eggs off the burner, moving over to the table to place it on the hot pads that were always out on top of it.  "Don't burn the tortillas, Cas."

His mouth went dry, swallowing audibly as Dean spoke, far too tempted to let breakfast fall by the wayside.  Stammering out a string of nonsense, Cas plucked a nearly burnt tortilla out of the pan with nimble fingers.

"You okay over here?"  Dean asked slyly, moving close in order to check on the potatoes.

The noise Cas let out was almost bird like, soft and half strangled as he got himself under control.  Clearing his throat, he nodded, going back to heating the tortillas.

"You sure?"  He asked, pressing into his side, stirring the potatoes around.

"Ye--"  He cleared his throat, "Yeah.  Fine."  He said, shifting a little as Dean pressed into him, far too distracted by a simple touch. 

Laughing softly, smugly, he patted his ass playfully and gave him a peck on the cheek as he moved to take the pan of potatoes over to the table too.  "Well, lemme know if that status changes."

Cas jumped, turning a half hearted glare in his direction.  "I'll do that."  He muttered, plucking another tortilla out of the pan, fast enough to avoid burning himself.

"Good," Dean hummed, grinning to himself, and he set the pan on the table.  "Hey, Sammy!  Time for breakfast.  Get your scrawny ass in here!"

Stacking the tortillas on a plate, Cas ruffled a hand through his hair, yawning softly as he carried the plate to the table.  Briefly, he made a mental note to be on best behaviour; it wouldn't do to mentally scar Sam this early in the morning.

"Finally," Sam groused, hair sticking on end as he came into the kitchen. 

Rolling his eyes, Dean gestured for him to sit.  "Shut up and stuff your face already."

As Castiel sat down, Dean placed a familiar hand on his shoulder, thumb brushing over his collarbone.  He hummed, giving an affectionate squeeze, and muttered a soft order for him to go ahead and eat as he moved away to start a fresh pot of coffee.  He met Dean's gaze for a moment, returning his smile as he set to serving himself up some breakfast.  Sam dug into the food laid out before him, making a burrito and taking a large bite before he turned his attention to Castiel.

"You stay the night again?"

Taking a bite, Cas raised his eyebrows in mild appreciation, hacking into the remainder of the burrito with no finesse whatsoever.  Swallowing a large mouthful, nodded, "Inadvertently, yeah."

Sam peered at him curiously, canting his head as his brows drew together, almost suspicious in its nature.  "You gonna stay over more often?"

Castiel hesitated, casting a quick glance at Dean before he nodded.  "Yes.  Probably."

Dean smiled to himself from where he was watching the coffee drip into the old pot.  He liked the idea of Castiel coming around more, of him staying over more.

"And what is your intention with my brother?"  Sam asked, and Dean balked, turning to give him a look that was crossed between shocked, embarrassed, and outraged.

" _Sam_!"

Castiel nearly choked on his breakfast, spluttering for a moment, neither outraged nor embarrassed, just plain surprised.  "I don't think you want the gory details."  He replied, a cheeky looking smile on his face.

Sam stopped eating, pinning Castiel with a surprisingly dark look, far too intimidating for a kid his age.  " _What_ is your intention?"

"Sam," Dean cut in, laughing awkwardly.  "We really-- there's no-- _stop_.”

Castiel’s smile dropped, keeping level gaze with Sam, not at all afraid of him.  "That depends.  I don't intend on a lot of things happening, but they do anyway."  He said, leaning forward, his expression sobered.  "I don't intend any harm towards your brother, if that's what worries you."

Pursing his lips, Sam looked at him, searching for something and seeming to find it when he smiled at him.  "Good.  Because if you do?  I _will_ hurt you."

Dean buried his face in a hand, hiding his humiliation.

Castiel peered at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious or not.  "Will you?"  He said, thinly veiled threat in his tone.

Sam leaned in, nodding, unshaken.  "Yes.  I will."

"Okayyy," Dean cut in, coming over with two cups of coffee, placing himself in the seat between them.  "How's breakfast?"

Cas snapped his attentions back to Dean, grabbing the offered coffee from him.  "It's good."  He said, a faint smile on his lips, forgetting all about his little confrontation.

"Good," he replied with a hum, beginning to dig into his own, more lukewarm, breakfast.  "I'm glad you like it."

Sam sighed, giving his older brother an endearingly fond look.  "So you're dating now, right?  You're not, like, friends with benefits or something?"

Dean choked, turning a glared on his brother, coughing as he sputtered.

"You're not paying him back for tutoring you with _sex_ , are you?"  Sam bristled, glancing between them, eyes widening.  "Because I've read about that--"

"Sam--"  Dean croaked helplessly.

"That's prostitution-- Dean, is Castiel _forcing_ you to--"

" _Sam_."

The coffee Cas was idly sipping at was abruptly and inelegantly expelled through his nose, spluttering at the accusation.  After taking a moment to recover, cleaning himself up with a napkin, he pinned Sam with a furious look.

"I understand that you're concerned for your brother, but don't you ever accuse me of forcing somebody to sleep with me."  He warned.

Sam gave Castiel a wary look, not saying anything, just looking to his brother expectantly.

Clearing his throat, Dean offered up an assuring smile.  "He's not forcing me into anything, Sammy.  I promise."

"That doesn't mean you're dating--"

"We are," Dean cut him off, glancing Cas' way surreptitiously.  "We're, uh... yeah, we're dating.  It's not Facebook official or anything, but--"

"But you _want_ to do things with him."  Sam finished, appearing slightly relieved but still cautious.

"Yes-- Sam," Dean narrowed his eyes at him.  "What exactly do you think we're doing?"

Castiel knew this would happen, eventually, someone would assume his intentions were negative.  Though he was hoping Sam would think better of him.  "I don't know how that's any of his business."  He said defensively.

"He's my brother and I want to make sure he's safe and happy.  That's how it's my business."  Sam insisted, giving Castiel a prim look.  "Don't get me wrong-- you're great and I really like you, but I can't be too careful.  He's my _only_ brother, Cas."

Dean's expression softened as Sam talked to Castiel from across the table, and he had to suppress a smile at the protective side that was rearing its head.

"I won't hurt him."  He said, nodding in understanding, voice quiet and nearly vulnerable.  "I promise you."

Sam nodded in wary acceptance, taking a bite of his burrito and chewing slowly as he thought of what next to say.  "Okay.  Then you guys can date.  Just... don't make out or whatever in front of me.  I don't wanna see that."

"Thanks," Dean said derisively, nudging Sam under the table.  "Glad I've got your approval."

"Welcome," Sam chirped, gripping his burrito and pushing away from the table.  "Gonna go get ready-- I'm going to the movies with Jess; her mom is picking me up in, like, twenty minutes."

Watching as he scrambled off, Dean huffed out an amused breath, shaking his head.  "Thanks for telling me!"  After a moment of silence, he finally turned back to Castiel, blushing faintly.  "Sorry about that."

Castiel's brow furrowed as Sam left, utterly confused as it what just happened.  "I wasn't aware I was asking for permission...  I would have been more polite."  He said, turning back to Dean.

"You weren't," Dean supplied, blushing more.  "He was just being... facetious.  Or whatever.  You don't need permission from anyone to be my boyfriend, Cas."

"I didn't think I did."  He said, shaking his head as though to clear it, idly sipping at his coffee.

"Do you-- I mean, that didn't scare you off did it?"  He joked, unwilling to meet his gaze, feeling familiar fear creeping up in him.

"He's a twelve year old boy.  I've seen mold scarier than him."  Cas said bluntly. 

Dean laughed, glancing up at him coyly.  "Yeah, no, I know.  Just...  I wanted to make sure.  And, you know, if you wanted an out, there it is."

"I'm not looking for a way out."  Cas said, offering a fond smile.

"I'm glad," he replied, let his foot slip over and rest against his.  "I don't want you to."

Nudging softly at his foot, Castiel smiled at him from the rim of his coffee mug.

"So," he cleared his throat, smiling in return as he picked idly at his breakfast.  "We've got the whole weekend-- what are we gonna do?"

"I could think of a few things."  Cas said, gentle tease in his voice. 

"Could you?"  Dean asked, tilting his head, lips twitching up in bemusement as he nudged at his foot, toes slipping up his ankle.  "What might those things be?"

Offering an almost coy smile, Cas got up, carrying his plate to the kitchen sink, dropping a kiss on his forehead as he went.  "That depends on you."

"How so?"  Dean asked curiously, taking the time to appreciate his form, eyes drifting down over his back, to his ass, and down to his calves before traveling back up.

Castiel knew when he was being looked at, feeling eyes on him before he registered who's they were.  "It all depends on what you're comfortable with."

"What are you comfortable with?"

Turning back to him, a small smile quirked his lips, moving to rest behind him, resting a hand over his shoulder.  "Would it be corny if i said you?"

"Corny?  No.  Cheesy?  Yeah."  Dean chuckled, looking up at him, grinning.  "But that's okay."

Squeezing his shoulder gently, he met Dean's grin equally.  "I suppose you'll have to get used to that."

"I suppose I will," he smiled, shivering slightly.

Unable to help himself, Cas craned his neck, leaning down to kiss him, only needing to give a gentle nudge at Dean's jaw as encouragement.  Relaxing almost instantly, Dean all but melted into the kiss, lips pressing more firmly to Castiel's as he reached up to tangled his fingers loosely in his hair.  The angle was awkward and Cas' neck ached, but the tangle of fingers in his hair was well worth it, the contented rush that managed to derail his line of thought every time they kissed.  Pulling back just enough to look at him, Cas offered a soft smile, relaxed enough in his presence to let any guard he had left drop.

Letting out a soft sound of protest as Castiel broke their kiss, Dean twisted more fully in his seat and kissed him again, lingering and savoring the feeling of lips on lips.  Humming his content, he curved his other hand behind Cas' neck, fingers pressing along as their mouths slanted so perfectly together.  He gave a tentative swipe with his tongue when a disgruntled cry made him jerk back.

" _Come on,_ I left you alone for, like, _five seconds_!"  Sam groused from the doorway, hand over his eyes, nose wrinkled in something akin to disgust-- most likely from finding his brother making out in the kitchen.  "I _eat_ in here, guys!"

The interruption pasted a discontented look on Cas' face, not moving the hand settled at Dean's shoulder despite Sam's complaints.  "So do I, what's your point?"  He grumbled, nudging softly at Dean's jaw to get his attention, wanting to kiss him again.

 _"My point_ ," Sam said, voice vaguely shrill, and Dean found himself being distracted by Castiel's persistence, their noses brushing as his breath caught.  "Is that it's _gross_ to come in a find my _brother_ making out with _anyone_ \-- Are you guys even _listening_?"

Somewhere in the back of Castiel’s mind, it pinged that this was insensitive, but at this point, he couldn't bring himself to care, far too absorbed with the teasing little brushes of their lips.

There was another disgruntled groan, and Sam threw up his arms in frustration.  _"Whatever_.  I'm leaving.  I'll be back later.  Yes, Dean, I have my phone.  I'll make sure to check in."

"Thanks, Sam.  Love you.  Be safe."  Dean muttered absently, eyes caught with Castiel's, pulse pounding nervously as a flush spread over his face.  "Try and kiss her this time."

"I hate you,"  Sam called, no venom to his words as he walked off, and Dean tilted his head just slightly as he heard the front door swing shut.

The door clicked, and Cas placed a nip on his bottom lip, threading a hand into the short hair at the nape of Dean's neck.  "Thought he'd never leave."

The sound the escaped Dean was more or less a whine, lips parting slightly, heart stammering somewhere in his chest as a weight settled and twisted in his stomach.  Cas let out a soft chuckle, the little noise Dean made was nothing short of endearing.  Tilting his head slightly, Cas sealed their lips together, no heat behind it, simple affection.  Melting into it, Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, and he pulled him closer reflexively.  His hands didn't quite shake like they did before, slowly growing comfortable. The hand at Dean’s shoulder moved to grip at the edge of the table, keeping him up as his knees went lax.

"God," Dean breathed between kisses, shifting to face him even better, hand cupping his jaw and gripping at his shirt.  "It's not fair.  _You're_ not fair."

"What?  Don't you like it?"  Cas teased, smiling down at him warmly.

"Too much," he conceded, nodding, staring up at him in earnest. 

"Not just me then."  He said, nudging at Dean's nose playfully.

Laughing faintly, he pulled back just enough to give him room to push to his feet, standing up as Castiel straightened to meet him.  "Definitely not just you."

Draping his arms over Dean's shoulders, he hummed softly, lingering in close, just out of reach.

Hands landing hesitantly at his hips, Dean smiled, feeling that familiar nervousness buzz beneath his skin.  "How's being incredibly lazy sound?"

A grin lit up his face, pressing a quick kiss to Dean's lips.  "Now you're speaking my language."

"Hit the couch?  Veg out all day with crap reruns of _Criminal Minds_ and _SVU_?"  He asked, slowly shuffling forward, leading Castiel backwards towards the doorway.  He went willingly, letting Dean lead him to the lounge room, nodding his agreement, even if he'd prefer to count the detail of freckles on Dean's cheeks.  "Awesome," Dean grinned, pressing him back onto the loveseat and following soon after-- Cas was cornered back against the armrest and Dean was leaning into his side, legs tucking beneath himself as he regretfully untangled from him in order to grab the remote.  He turned the TV on distractedly, eyes not leaving Castiel, and he had to resist the urge to lean in a kiss him again.

Shifting to get himself comfortable, Castiel held him close, resting against him in complete content to just stay there all day, hardly even noticing the television.  Leaning in, Dean kissed him, long and lingering.   Gentle brushes of their lips, presses of their mouths.  He wound his arm around Cas' waist, tugging him closer, letting out a content sigh against his skin.

Television forgotten, Cas pressed a hand to his cheek, humming softly as they kissed, slow and easy.  By the time they'd pulled back, he had a goofy looking smile painted on his face, genuinely happy as he burrowed closer.

* * *

Cas spent the remainder of his weekend wrapped up in Dean's presence, warm and content, a growing flirtatious banter between them leading to more than one heated make out session.  He could still feel the tingle of lips against his if he thought hard enough about it.  By the time Castiel had actually gotten home, mouth shaped bruise proudly sucked into his neck, Gabriel cheered, proclaiming his little brother’s victory so loudly that their upstairs neighbour had stomped on their floor to quiet the rowdy Novaks. 

Sunday night had been sleepless, waiting for the hours to tick by so he could go see Dean again.  School had been no better, only blockades of class time that kept him from his goal.  It was nearly lunch before he could find Dean, ducking through the crowd as he approached him.  He found Dean digging around his locker-- putting things in, neat as can be, and taking things out for the classes he had after the lunch period was over. 

Dean only spotted Castiel after he'd shut the metal door, startling only slightly at the sight of him.  "Cas, hey."

Castiel beamed at him, coming to stop just short of touching him, unsure if such public gestures would be okay.  "Hello, Dean."

Dean noted the way he stopped just shy of him, and he felt his stomach drop in disappointment.  "Ready for lunch?"

When Dean made no attempt to close the short distance between them, Cas let the hand he had nearly touching his drop.  Perhaps it would just take a little time.  "Yeah.  Sure." 

"Awesome," he smiled, jerking his head in gesture for Cas to follow him as he turned away, leading down the hall.  "How's your day?"

"Lonely."  Cas replied without thinking about it, regretting his honestly the second he'd spoken.

Faltering, Dean glanced his way, brows drawn together in concern.  "Lonely?"

Swallowing thickly, Castiel nodded.  "Yeah."  He mumbled.

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly, nudging into Castiel's side.

He shook his head, letting the very tips of his fingers brush at Dean's arm.  "It's not your fault."

Swallowing thickly, Dean gave in to the urge to touch him, taking his hand and squeezing it gently before he let it go again-- before Cas could pull away first.  Pushing through the double doors, he held one open for Castiel to follow through, and waved over at Charlie from across the lunchroom.  She perked up, waving back far too enthusiastically, and it made Dean crack an amused smile.  Castiel rolled his shoulders to keep from feeling too disappointed, distracting himself as he waved a little at Charlie.  He shuffled a little further away, knowing Dean would want some space, that he wasn't the public type.

"Hey, you two."  Charlie chirped as they took their seats across from her.  "How was the long weekend?"

"Yeah," Meg lifted a sly, knowing brow, staring over at Dean with an open-mouthed smirk.  "How was it?"

Castiel schooled his features as much as he could, tense shouldered as he strived to ignore the deflating disappointment that threatened to pop the warm bubble his weekend had put him in.  Sitting rigidly, he gave a curt nod of his head in greeting.

"Nothing special."  Cas said, tone steely, not enjoying having to lie about this.  Not when he wanted to shout it to the world.

Dean glanced his way, the dismissal of what they'd done-- of what they'd become to one another-- stinging.  It made his gut clench uncomfortably, his heart lurching in his chest as something tightened in his throat.  Something a lot like hurt.  Coughing into his hand, he busied himself with pulling out his lunch, inching away from Castiel subtly.

"Yeah, nothing special."  He muttered in agreement, hating the way the words tasted on his tongue.

Charlie gave him a curious look, tilting her head.  "Seriously?"

"I baked a pie," Dean shrugged.  "On Sunday."

"Ah, yes."  Meg smirked, but there was something tense in her expression as she glanced between him and Cas, like she could see what they weren't saying and was irritated about it.  "The annual ceremony of bemoaning your losses by baking through it.  What kind was it this year, Dean-o?"

Despite the tension that had settled between them, Castiel leveled a glare at Meg, seeing only a slur against Dean.

Dean shot her a dry stare, knowing she didn't mean any real harm, that she was just poking fun and trying to offer him comfort the only way she knew how; he pointed a plastic fork her way.  "If you must know, pumpkin.  The apples aren't in season, yet, and I'm practicing for Thanksgiving."

"Speaking of which," Meg brushed off Cas' glare with a grin, leaning forward, an arm draped around Charlie's shoulders.  "Should I make plans to escape from under daddy's drunken wing to come over?  Or should I brace myself for the beating?"

"Meg," Dean gave her an earnest look, and spotted the way her smile wobbled.  "Of course you can come over.  It's tradition.  Besides, I need someone to keep Sam's grubby hands out of the rice pudding and cookies."

"I'd come, but I'm gonna be busy with the fam."  Charlie chimed in, leaning into Meg's side.  "Did Garth go to last year's?"

"No, but Ash did."  Dean supplied.

Meg rolled her eyes.  "Please, don't invite him again."

"I can't make any promises."

It went on like that for a while, food being eaten and banter being exchanged.  Castiel fell silent, suddenly feeling very alien in the conversation.  His family didn't do close celebration.  There were elaborate parties that he always hated, and occasionally, all of them would sit in uncomfortable conversation for an hour under the pretense of  family dinner.  They had always been tense charades that ultimately just had the lot of them growing further and further apart.  Thanksgiving wasn’t an exception to the rule. 

Feeling like he had nothing to add Cas debated leaving, though frankly, he had nowhere else to go.

"What about you, Cas?"  Charlie asked him curiously.

"I don't celebrate Thanksgiving."  He said flatly, "It's not like I can just go back home for the week."

Dean looked over at him, blinking his shock away, and offering a tentative smile.  "You and Gabriel can come over to mine for the Holiday.  I always have too many leftovers."

Cas looked over at him, swallowing thickly.  "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Yeah," he smiled, giving a tentative nudge at Cas' knee, hoping that under the table stuff would be okay.  "Of course.  I'd be happy to have you guys."

The touch nearly made Cas forget to keep things covert, having to stop himself from reaching out and taking the hand set on the table top.  "Thank you."

All but beaming over at him, he nudged again, turning back to his food as Charlie gave him a small smirk.  Swallowing down a bite of his sandwich, his brow quirked up.  "How was your weekend?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Meg chuckled, giving Dean a sultry look that he blinked boredly at in reply.  "Which, by the way, the invitation still stands, hot stuff."

Dean nearly choked on his own drink.  "We are not-- _No._ "

"What invitation?"  Charlie glanced over to her girlfriend accusingly as Dean's face turned a lovely shade of red.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Meg, jealousy flaring with the look she gave him.  Charlie managed to steal the question right out of his mouth, "We're not what?"

"We weren't _serious_."  Dean stressed, giving Meg a dirty glare.  " _I_ definitely wasn't."

"I was," she hummed, and Dean jumped as a foot dragged up the inside of his leg.  "Charlie trusts you."

"Oh," the red head's eyes widened comically, and she bashfully tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  "That."

"And you're not half bad to look at naked."  Meg continued, brows lifting suggestively.

Laughing, half-hysteric, Dean shook his head, nearly yelping as Meg's foot only slid higher.  "I- I uh-- _No_.  We were joking, and you both were drunk.  Bad drunk decisions are just that: _bad_."

Realisation hit, and Castiel flat out glowered at her, bordering on life-threatening.  He did _not_ share his things with anyone, regardless of trust levels.  "I hope for your sake you aren't implying what I think you're implying."

"Why?"  Meg shot back, head tilting, eyes flashing, teasingly dangerous.  "Don't like the idea of a couple of girls pawing at your friend?  You should be happy for him, Clarence.  Unless, of course, you two are more than just friends?"

Cas went silent for a moment, inadvertently landing himself in quite the predicament.  If he said yes, Meg would stop, but he knew Dean would disapprove if he did.

Dean felt something in him drop, and he glanced over at Castiel, hating the way his own hopes rose.  Hating the way he was all but praying for Castiel to say yes.  That they were dating.  That they were together.  That they had spent the weekend making out and touching and being with one another, and that Meg should get her questing foot out of his lap.

 "None of your business."  Cas grumbled, hating himself for it.

Looking away, Dean took a deep breath, staring down at his lunch with his appetite gone.  "No, of course not."  He said dully, but he knocked Meg's foot away, and she let it drop with a small frown.

"Right," Meg shrugged, but there was a concerned glimmer in her eyes that Dean recognized and ignored.  "Then you can just swing by Friday night-- it's pizza night anyways, and Garth will be heading out of town early for the Holiday."

"Sure," Dean laughed hollowly, rolling his eyes.  There was a pressure building up in his chest, stifling and reminiscent of the feeling he used to get when he was younger.  When he was prone to panic-attacks.  When he couldn’t breathe no matter how much he tried.  When his heart started pounding so fast he thought it might break his ribs.  He needed to go, needed to get away.  "I'll be there.  Hey, I uh... I gotta book.  Just remembered I need to finish something for one of my classes."

The girls seemed confused, but said nothing but their goodbyes as he gathered up his things.  Castiel snapped a look to Dean as he stood, hearing the a strain in his voice.  Something in him dropped, shoulders hanging loose as disappointment welled up in him.  He jerked as Meg kicked his shin, giving him a pointed stare, eyes flickering to Dean’s retreating form.  Cursing softly, Castiel stood, moving to go after him, unsure what had happened to trigger such a rapid departure.

"Dean, wait."

Dean didn't wait.  He didn't stop.  Not until he was out of the lunch room and into the more or less deserted halls.  He slowed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he braced himself for the inevitable.  The regretful look, the half-assed apology.  The end of something that had barely started.

A concerned furrow marred Cas' forehead, taking hold of Dean's arm to stop him from going any further, gentle pressure that turned him around.  "I'm sorry."  He blurted out, not even sure why he was, just knowing it might fix things again.  If having Dean meant keeping secrets, then he would.

"Cas, don't--" he pulled away, letting out a tired breath, refusing to meet his gaze.  "Don't apologize, I get it, okay?"

Shuffling back slightly, Castiel nodded, suddenly smaller in appearance.  "I'll do better next time."

"Do better at what?"  He barked out a sharp laugh, hands out at his sides.  "Keeping me your dirty little secret?"

Castiel gave him a look of complete confusion.  "You're not my secret...  I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

Realization dawned on him, and if Dean didn't look so upset, he would have laughed.  "You think I'm ashamed of you?"  Cas asked, advancing on him.

"Think?"  Dean scoffed, retreating a few steps, stopping only when he stumbled.  "Cas, you weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Neither were you."  He accused.

"I don't--  I don't know what to _do_ here, Cas."  He said, voice cracking, almost desperate.  "I don't know what you want.  I don't know what's _allowed_."

Castiel let out a frustrated sigh, moving in on him again.  "I want you to listen to me _carefully_.  I will not be your dirty little secret, and you won't be mine.  I don't care if people _look_ , or if they _know_."  Cas told him, leaning in close enough to feel warm, if slightly quickened breath against his lips.  “I want you.  And if anyone else has a problem with that, they can fuck off.  I won’t hide you.”

Cas lingered a moment, let his words marinate between them as he took in the searching look on Dean’s face before he angled his mouth down and kissed him.  A brief touch-and-release kiss, there and gone in a moment, but not tentative.  It was firm and solid, leaving no room for argument, and Cas pulled back just long enough to see relief spread over Dean’s features before he was leaning in for another kiss, longer this time.

Dropping his backpack to the ground with a dull thump, Dean let his hands come up, grasping at what he could.  One curled just beneath Castiel's jaw, rounding at the back of his neck, and the other clutched at the leather of his coat as he kissed back.  A thousand needles burned under Dean’s skin, coaxing a needy sound out of him, and he pressed flush against Cas as their mouths slanted together.  The sound Castiel replied with was nearly a purr, deep and satisfied as he guided Dean back, a hand curled against his cheek.  After a long moment, he broke to suck in a sharp breath, only to lean back in and kiss him all over again, vaguely aware of a bell ringing-- how much time had passed?  How long had they been kissing?  Surely only a few seconds, not minutes-- though it was distant, far too distracted by the press of a body against his.

The metal was cold against Dean’s back, even through his shirt, and it only made Dean cling to Castiel more.  He was lost in it-- the feeling of lips on his, the press and pull of Castiel's mouth, and the taste of him lingering on his tongue as it deepened.  There was a clatter, of voices and laughter and shoes slapping against the floor as students started to head back to class, but Dean was too busy.  Jerking him closer, hand dropping from his jacket to hook his fingers in a belt loop, he tugged Cas more firmly against him until they were pressed from thigh to shoulder. 

A sharp wolf whistle brought Cas crashing back to reality, pulling back abruptly to find they'd gathered a bit of attention.  Panting softly, a dark flush on his cheeks, Castiel tried to shuffle back only to find fingers curled into his jeans.  Swallowing thickly, he offered a nervous smile up at Dean.

Dean grinned, tangling his fingers into his hair as he pulled him in for another kiss, breathless and positively giddy.  Cas was going to pull back, but the encouraging tug of fingers in his hair made him forget completely about anything except the warm press of Dean's lips.

Breaking away after the catcalls grew too obnoxious, Dean laughed softly, smoothing out the wreck he'd made of Castiel's hair.  "We should, um... we should probably get to class."

"Probably."  Cas mumbled, painfully aware of the passing chorus of jeers going on behind them.  Taking a step back, he ruffled a hand through his hair in feeble attempt to calm it down, lips reddened.

Pushing off of the lockers, he stooped down to pick up his bag, standing and hesitating only a brief moment before he reached out to catch Castiel's fingers loosely with his.  "Walk me?"

He smiled over at Dean, fingers locking more securely with his, walking away with him.  "Where are we headed?"

"English.  We're reading _Oedipus Rex_ today.  Exciting stuff."  He rolled his eyes, nudging into his side affectionately, noting a few sparse stares, but nothing more than mild interest in their gazes as Dean and Cas walked down the hall together.

Cas let out a soft chuckle, leading him towards his class.  "I never did like that play much."

"Because it's gross or because by this point in Greek tragedies, the Fate theme has been so played out that it's disgusting?"  He quipped, following along with a smile on his face.

"Both."  Castiel replied, "I had to put it down a few times and try to forget what I just read.  I mean, his mother, really?"

"In his defense, he didn't _know_ it was his mom until later."  Dean shrugged, and then shuddered, a frown forming on his face.  "But that doesn't forgive him for when he kept sleeping with her even after he knew.  Even after _she_ knew.  Ahh, gross, can we stop talking about it?"

Cas' nose crinkled, shuddering at the idea.  "Let’s."

As they came up to Dean's classroom door, he slowed to a stop, turning to look at Castiel with a crooked smile.  "So, see you after school?  We've uh... we've got tutoring still, right?  Probably be a good time to, ya know, talk things out.  Make sure we _know_ what exactly the boundaries are or... aren't?"

"Probably a good time for you to do your homework."  Cas reminded, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.  "We'll talk later."  He promised, walking away without further word

Smiling to himself, Dean watched him go, turning only after Castiel disappeared around a corner.  He startled slightly when he caught sight of Garth standing there, more or less gawking at him.  Clearing his throat, he brushed by, giving him a resigned look.  "What?"

"Did you just get a kiss from Cas?"  Garth asked, a knowing grin curling on his face as he followed after his friend, and Dean shifted uncomfortably as he slid into his desk.  Garth parked right next to him, twisting in his chair to keep that smile-- stupidly triumphant-- pointed his way.  "You did, didn't you?"

"It's not the first one," he shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.  Like it wasn't the hugest fucking deal.

Garth hit his arm, jittering excitedly, and Dean winced at the surprising amount of force the strike had.  "Not the first one?  Dean Winchester, you tell me what happened right now."

"C'mon, man, it's nothing special."

" _Dean_."

"Alright, alright."  He rolled his eyes, trying and failing to fight off the goofy grin that spread over his face as he thought of the locker room, of the trampoline in the fading light, of the kitchen (more than once), of his living room (also more than once), and of the hallway just moments before.  "We're uh... We're dating.  Me and Cas."

"Okay, I knew that, but you're finally kissin'?"  Garth pressed, and Dean shot him a look.

"What do you mean you knew that?"

"Dean-o, my pal o' mine, you've been datin' the guy for practically a month."  Garth smirked, pointing at him.  "It's yer own damn fault it took ya this long to realize." 

"I--"

The bell rung overhead, and Dean blinked owlishly, thinking back on the weeks that he and Castiel had been interacting.  Of the touching and flirting, of everything they'd shared between one another, and realized that-- despite all of his fears-- they'd been dating the entire time.  It was simultaneously disturbing and satisfying.  Settling back into his seat, he stared at his teacher blindly, still dumbstruck and shell-shocked as the lecture began. 

* * *

 

Castiel had spent the remainder of class with a goofy looking smile on his face, satisfied and nearly feline as he pretended to focus on his biology work, pen held lax between his lips.  The clamour of the final bell jerked him out of his thoughts, startling him slightly, pen clattering to his desk where it rolled off to settle on the floor.  Gathering his things, Castiel left his class, leaving his pen behind as he walked back to Dean's locker, waiting with steadfast patience.

Dean looked dazed when he walked up, like he'd heard something that he couldn't quite believe, and he offered up a kind of loopy smile from down the hall as he made his way over to Cas.  "Hi."

"Hello, Dean."  He said, resisting the urge to go over and kiss him again.

"Hi," he repeated, drifting closer and hovering before he gave a pointed look at the locker Castiel was leaning against.

Scrambling to get off of Dean's locker, Cas offered a near bashful smile, heart rate rising. It was ridiculous, someone shouldn't affect him like this.

Chuckling softly, Dean moved to it, jerking it open and slotting his books away before he grabbed the ones he needed.  Reluctantly, fingers hesitating over his texts, he gave him a fleeting look and tried for nonchalance.  "I told Garth that we're dating."

Castiel gave a shrug, standing nearly uncomfortably close.  "How'd he take it?"

"He seemed to have the impression that we've been dating since September," Dean replied mildly, shutting his locker and turning to look at him, the proximity between the two of them minuscule and not finding a single problem with how little space there was.  "So, I guess he took it well."

"September?"  Cas said, thinking it through for a moment.  "Yes, I suppose he could have come to that conclusion." 

"Imagine," Dean grinned, leaning in a bit closer.  "We could have been pawing at each other like this for months, and instead we waited this long."

Cas gave another shrug.  "They say love is blind."  He said simply, giving him a quick peck on the lips as he pulled away.

"Love?"  Dean's heart stammered in his chest, and he searched Castiel's face avidly.  Was this love?  Would it be?

Castiel just gave him a secretive smile and said no more on the topic, a strange warmth spreading through his chest.

"Library, then?"  Dean asked, clearing his throat awkwardly, face flushing at the smile Castiel offered.  "Homework and talking and all that jazz?"

"Library."  He agreed, pushing off the locker he was blocking and walking away, gently motioning with his hand.

Following after him, he couldn't help but feel a nervous excited hum beneath his skin, a constant itch that wouldn't fade.  The thing that would always be at the back of his mind, now.  _Love_.

The walk to Dean’s car and the ride to the public library was short but sweet, and it went by in a bit of a haze.  Dean didn't really snap back to himself until they were seated across from one another, his books sprawled out between them.  Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, giving Cas a curious look.

"Homework first?  Or talking?"

A soft smile settled over Castiel’s face.  He could almost feel the buzz under his skin from his place across from him.  Meeting his curious look easily, Castiel gave a slight shrug.  "You look like you want to talk."

"Talking would be good," he said, hand sliding out over the table, stopping halfway.  "I don't want another mix up like today.  That... that kinda sucked until the tonsil hockey against the lockers."

Cas let out a soft chuckle.  "It was entertaining."  He agreed, expression turning  serious.  "But I'd rather not have to make up in the middle of lunch hour every time we misunderstand."

"That would be good, yeah."  Dean replied, smiling, hand flipping over in invitation.  "So let's get things straight.  Figure everything out."

"Well, as straight as possible."  He teased, trying to make light of the situation.  Pressing a hand over Dean's, he rubbed over his wrist slowly.  "So, you're okay with people knowing?"

"Yes, of course."  He said, watching as Castiel's fingers moved over his skin, his own curling to trace out imaginary patterns in reply.  "I don't care who knows-- I'm not ashamed of who I am or being with you.  I was just worried you were."

"Do I look like I give two shits about what the general populace thinks of me?"  Cas asked, knowing it was a little untrue.

"Sometimes," Dean said blatantly, shrugging a shoulder.  "So we're public.  No hiding it.  From family too?"

"Gabriel already figured it out, and I doubt you'll be meeting anyone else, so no."

"Sam knows.  Bobby and Jody don't, but they won't care.  Neither will Ellen."  Dean replied, and he frowned for a moment.  "I don't really tell my dad much of anything, but I think he'd be too drunk to care."

Cas nodded slowly, a little skeptical about telling Dean's father regardless of his inebriation levels.  "As long as you're okay with it, you're welcome to tell him, frankly I'd like to avoid any and all contact."

"Don't like my dad, huh?"  He asked, bemused.

"What gave it away?"  Cas grumbled.

Laughing softly, he gave him a pointed look.  "You're not subtle about it."

"I know."  Cas said flatly, squeezing his hand gently, trying to keep from settling too far into his hatred of Dean's father.

"It's kinda sweet, actually."  He muttered, glancing down. 

"One of us has to hate him."  He said bluntly.

Snorting, he looked up with a derisive expression.  "C'mon, Cas.  He's my dad.  And I can take a couple of hits."

"But you shouldn't have to."  He insisted.

Dean opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but shut it again when he couldn't come up with anything.  Letting his fingers trail over Cas' palm, he gave him a small smile.  "You're right.  But I do.  I have to."

Castiel let out an angry huff, the fingers trailing on his palm doing little to soothe him.

"I can't lose Sam, Cas."

"I know.  I just don't like either of you hurt."

"Sam-- Sam doesn't get hurt," he said, giving him a sad look, but there was a fierce protectiveness in his gaze.  "Just me."

With a soft huff, he nodded.  "I figured as much."  He mumbled, squeezing his hand softly.

"He doesn't hurt me much, Cas."  Dean insisted, letting their fingers lace together.  "And it isn't often."

"But he still does."  Cas growled, feeling himself getting angrier, the hand not curled in Dean's clamping down on the desk.

"He doesn't mean to," he said weakly, thumb brushing soothingly over his hand.  "He just... gets drunk and it happens."

"That's a terrible excuse."

"I wish I could offer a better one."

Cas shook his head, letting out a long sigh to keep himself in check.  "Can we talk about something else, please?"  He asked, a little desperate.

"Yes," he breathed, nudging at his foot.  "We can talk about us some more.  Since there _is_ an us."

Nodding gratefully, Castiel offered a shaky smile.  "There is."  He said, squeezing at his hand.  "Did Meg really ask you for a threesome?"

Face going a brilliant red, Dean choked on a gasp, sputtering for a moment.  "I, uh-- I, no... Yes?"

His eyes narrowed in mild suspicion for a moment until he realized exactly what that would look like.  A slow smirk spread his lips.  "She always was ambitious."

Clearing his throat, Dean searched his expression warily, brow quirking up and face still pink.  "What's that grin about?"

"It'd be interesting."  He said, half absent as his mind wandered only to abruptly stop when he realized the entire thing involved Dean and two people that weren't him.  "But I don't share."

"I don't either," he informed him, but there was a smile curling on his face as he leaned in.  "Were you just thinking about me and two women?"

"Yes."  He replied, blunt and to the point.  "It's a nice visual."

"Is it now?"  Dean canted his head, squeezing his hand, foot nudging between Castiel's.  "And what else have you been thinking about that involves me and _nice visuals_?"

A soft flush burned Cas' cheeks, withdrawing a little, suddenly very aware of the direction this conversation was taking.  "A few things."  He admitted.

Frowning, Dean tugged his hand closer when he felt him starting to pull away, the other one reaching out over the table for Castiel's free one.  "Does this make you uncomfortable?"

He shook his head, "No, but it might make _you_ uncomfortable."

Biting his lower lip, hesitant and nervous, Dean brought their hands together, staring at the tangled mess for a moment before he finally mustered up the courage to speak.  "I've... I've thought about you and me on that trampoline.  About what would've happened if we hadn't stopped."

He swallowed thickly, shifting a little in his seat.  "I think breakfast would have been really late."

"Probably," Dean shrugged, but he was grinning, eyes alight with something like mirth.  "You know, I'll _tell you_ if I'm uncomfortable, Cas.  If I'm not ready for something.  I mean, we both _want_ each other-- that's all I felt towards you at first, anyways.  Attraction and mild irritation."  Fingers traced the lines of Cas' palms, gentle and affectionate.  "I don't think we should be so shy about it.  You aren't going to scare me off."

Begrudgingly, he returned Dean's smile, nervous as he spoke.  "I just don't want to push too hard and do something stupid."

"You won't."  Dean replied with surprising confidence.

"You don't know that."

Dean gave him a plaintive look.  "Are you _planning_ on pushing me too far?"

Cas shook his head, eyes fixed on the tangle of their hands.  "I don't plan a lot of things."

"Do you want to?"  He pressed, having a point, and just waiting to guide Castiel to it.

He shook his head again, chancing a look up at him.

Leaning in, he smiled, soft and fond.  "You don't plan on pushing me too far.  You don't want to.  Then you won't, Cas.  You'll stop yourself.  You'll keep yourself from pushing too hard."

Cas shifted a little, going through the what if's as briefly as he could considering the sheer volume.  "You think so?"

"I know so."

"That's very presumptuous of you."

"Is it?"  Dean smiled, fingers dragging over Cas’.  "I don't think so."

"I do."  He replied, offering a near pained smile.

"I'll tell you.  I promise, I'll tell you, Cas."  Dean breathed, expression softening as he squeezed his fingers.  "If you don't trust yourself, at least trust me."

The expression on his face was uncharacteristically vulnerable, shoulders hunching over.  "I trust you."

"Then it's a non-issue."  He said, wanting nothing more than to kiss that look away.  "We'll trust one another.  And that trusting could, perhaps, involve some less than appropriate touching.  How's that?"

He nodded slowly, blind faith only going so far to help soothe his fears.  "I think we can manage that."

"Good," he offered a smile, hoping the situation had been defused. 

Squeezing gently at his hands, Cas offered a shaky smile, tentative almost.

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

He was so lost in thought, he completely forgot about the objective of these meetings, nodding silently, reluctant to let go of Dean's hands.  He just wanted this to go well, afraid of losing the closest relationship he'd ever had.

Noticing the way fingers seemed to tighten-- almost desperately-- in his, Dean leaned in a bit more, holding his gaze.  "Let's go get something to eat.  The Roadhouse is open, and Ellen gives me free food.  It could be like a date."

Cas nodded again, getting up from his seat and gathering his things.  "I'd like that."

 

 


	12. Serendipitous

Ellen's was bustling when they walked in, not busy but certainly not slow.  Dean was moderately surprised to see so many people there-- and so early on a weekday.  Walking up to the hostess desk, he leaned casually against it, knowing that the _Wait to Be Seated_ sign didn't exactly apply to him considering that he worked there, but he wanted to see who was on the floor for the afternoon and rest of the evening.  Turning to glance at Cas, he smiled, feeling strangely elated to be on such an outing with him.

" _Please_ , tell me you aren't here to cause trouble."  Jo's voice made Dean turn back, and he grinned at her cheekily.

"Aren't I always?"

"Does my mom know you're here?"  She asked, crossing her arms haughtily, but there was a teasing smile on her face.  "Or are you just here to bother me?"

"Actually I'm here to eat."  He said simply, pushing to stand up straight.  "Table for two."

Jo frowned, looking over Dean's shoulder, searching for something and only finding Castiel.  What could only be interpreted as confusion flickered over her face even as she plucked up two menus.  Rounding the desk, she stood before Dean, too close to be casual as she stared up at him.

"Where's Sam?"

"Probably at Andy's."  Dean shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets.  "Me and Cas are grabbing a bite."

Castiel still didn't quite know if he trusted Jo, watching her warily as she stood a little too close to Dean for his liking.  He stood a little smaller than he usually might, nearly pressed up against Dean's side, the closeness setting him at ease despite his worries.  He followed on as Jo lead them to a table, reaching out and grabbing Dean's hand out of instinct.

Jo blinked as they sat down, Dean making sure to pull Castiel down into the booth beside him instead of sitting across from one another, and her expression almost seemed wounded.  "Uh... What-- What can I get you guys to drink?"

"Water would be good," Dean said, taking his menu with an oblivious smile, pressing into Castiel with their fingers twining together.

Cas let out a long breath as they settled in, clearing his head, focusing on the warmth of Dean's hand in his.  "What he said."

"I'll let your server know," she glanced between them, a wrinkle forming between her brows as she drifted off, glancing periodically back at them before she disappeared around a corner. 

After she'd gone, Dean turned to Cas, smiling at him.  "You okay?"

Castiel nodded, returning his smile, albeit smaller.  "I will be.  Sorry about before.  I got carried away."

"It's fine.  You're allowed to get carried away."

His smile broadened a little, glad that Dean was so understanding.  "Thank you."

Shrugging, he appeared nonchalant, but there was a teasing glimmer in his eyes.  "No big deal."

Leaning against him, Cas let out a soft sigh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"So," Dean opened up his menu, blushing faintly at the lips that pressed to his skin.  "What do you want to eat?"

Deciding to forgo his own menu in favour of peering over at Dean's, Castiel hummed in contemplation, perking up considerably upon discovering the burgers.  "Cheeseburger."

Snorting faintly, he nudged into his side, grinning broadly.  "You'll be happy to know that the cheeseburger is one of the best meals in the house.  You'll like it."

A warm smile quirked his lips, letting out a pleased hum at the news.  "There is nothing worse than a bad burger."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure there are worse things."  He laughed, skimming through a menu he'd already memorized, thumb brushing over Cas’ hand as he snuggled in closer.  He liked this, being able sit with him like this, hold his hand, be affectionate with him whenever he liked.  If Dean believed in such a thing, he'd say it was a bit like Heaven.  "You've obviously never had a charlie horse in the middle of a 500 meter race."

"What the fuck is a charlie horse?"  Cas asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

Dean laughed again, giggles bubbling up past his lips, and he had to muffle it in his hand as his amusement spilled out and overflowed.  "It's-- It's a kind of cramp, Cas."

"Then just call it a cramp."  He said flatly, finding Dean's laughter endearing, a fond smile on his face.

"It's a specific kind," he was still chuckling, face flush with his bemusement, letting his forehead rest against Castiel's shoulder.  "In your calf.  You get it in your calf."

"You are so weird."  Cas mumbled, chuckling along with him despite his words.

"I'm not weird!"  Dean balked, elbowing him half-hearted.  "It's a common term!  You're the weird one for not knowing it."

Grinning cheekily up at him, Cas rolled his eyes.  "Weirdo."

" _You're_ a weirdo," he accused lamely.

"No, you are."  He retorted, nudging against his ribs.

"Am not," Dean squirmed back from the touch, giving him a warning glare-- half-hearted and mostly ruined by the smile on his face.  "You are."

"How so?" He asked, giving a playful lab at his stomach.

Slapping at his hand, muscles jerked in reaction, and he bit back another laugh.  "You don't watch TV.  What self-respecting, normal teenager doesn't watch TV?"

"I never said I was normal." Castiel countered, grinning at him.

"I wouldn’t want you to be."  Dean stated.

Castiel _did_ have a witty remark about insane boyfriends lined up, but it died as Dean kissed him, letting out a soft sigh.

Pulling back after a lingering moment, Dean nudged gently at his nose.  "We could just skip the food and go make out in the back of the Impala."

It was a very tempting offer, humming quietly as he considered it.  "We could."  He agreed, letting go of his hand in favour of resting it on his thigh.

"We could," Dean repeated, breath catching faintly at the hand on his leg, and he leaned in for another kiss, only stopping short as their server walked up, setting their waters on the table for them.  Jumping slightly, he pressed his hand down over Castiel's, keeping it on his thigh as he looked up at a familiar face.  "Tess, hey."

"Dean," she smirked knowingly, and he couldn't help the blush that burned his face.  "What can I get for you and your _friend_?"

Castiel raising his head with a slightly putout expression when they were interrupted, looking over their waitress, briefly debating correcting her.  A little thrill went through him as he remembered that they weren't friends anymore.  "I'll take a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake, and I don't know about him."

"The usual?"  She asked him, not bothering to write the order down.  Dean nodded meekly, and her expression softened, giving him a wink as she turned to walk away.  "I'll let Ash know what you want, and I'll get it out to you as soon as possible.  Try not to get too grabby."

"Thanks, Tessa."  Dean cleared his throat, feeling a bit like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Do you know _everyone_ here?"  Cas asked, squeezing at his thigh gently.

"I, uh," he swallowed thickly, acutely aware of the hand on his thigh, and he only flushed worse when he realized how much he didn't mind it.  How much he wouldn't mind if it moved a little higher.  How much he _wanted_ it to.  "I work here sometimes, remember?"

Catching his reaction, Cas let his hand wander a little, sliding to the inside of his thigh.  "Really?  How many jobs do you _have_?"

"Three," Dean squeaked and cleared his throat, eyes dark as he looked at him.  He shuddered at the feeling of heat through his jeans, long fingers at the inside seam of his pants, and he forced himself still.  Forced himself to see where Cas would take things.

Briefly, Cas looked down, a slow smirk curling his lips as he squeezed at his thigh again.  "Three?"  He asked, leaning in a little.  "How do you find any time for yourself, working all the time?  School?  Sleep?  Taking care of Sam?"

"I uh," his mouth went dry, and he couldn't help but shift a little, unwilling to call it squirming.  "The shower is a pretty good place to find time for myself."

"Maybe one day you can show me."  He said, tone dropping to a near purr as he leant in closer, nipping playfully under his ear. 

Swallowing thickly, Dean felt his heart fall over itself for a moment at the thought, and he knew that he would have more than a little inspiration when he finally took things into his own hands that night.  Breath coming just vaguely uneven, he let his head fall to the side slightly, offering up the expanse of his neck to that wondering mouth.

“And here I thought you were nervous about pushing me too hard.”  Dean replied, hand finding Castiel's at his thigh as he let his legs fall open, practically in invitation.  "If you play your cards right, maybe I'll show you soon."

The sound Cas let out was akin to a growl, hand sliding up Dean’s leg as far as he dared considering the venue.  "Is your car still an option?"

Turning to meet his gaze, eyes dark, his breath came shallow.  "Definitely still an option."

He held Dean’s gaze for a long moment, heated as he let his hand inch up just that little bit more and squeezed gently between his legs.  "We should get going before I jump you here."

A whine catching in his throat, he nodded, heat coiling in him like a spring just ready to snap.  Cas' hand was so close to where he wanted it, and his hips shifted minutely, feeling fingers brush along the seam with just enough pressure to make fire pool below his navel.  He wanted him, and he wanted him bad.

"Let's go," Dean murmured, voice rough and husky, strained with desire.  "Now--"

"Dean Winchester, you did not tell me you were seeing somebody!"  A cheerful, warm voice cut through, and Dean blanched and then turned red all over again in a matter of seconds as he pulled his face away from Castiel's just enough to smile at Ellen.

"Sorry about that," he croaked, still keenly aware of the hand laying over his crotch, of the way his abdomen flexed with nervousness, all warm and fluttering.  "It's sort of new.  Cas, this is Ellen.  Ellen, this is Cas, my boyfriend."  Turning to give Castiel a pointed look, he glanced down and back up quickly, as if telling him to move his hand.  "Ellen is a family friend and my boss."

Castiel turned to acknowledge her without missing a beat, squeezing at his crotch again, ever so subtle as he smiled charmingly at Ellen.  "Pleasure to meet you."  He said, covering up the arousal in his tone with practiced ease.

"He's a looker, Dean-o."  Ellen smiled, sliding into the seat across from them, and Dean felt panic tighten in his stomach.  _This isn't happening, oh my god._

Castiel's hand was on his cock.  _Castiel's hand was on his cock_.  Despite the layers between the warmth of his palm and the length of him being constricted in his jeans, it still had him twitching with interest, and swallowing down a helplessly needy sound.  He ached, trying to shift back away from his hand subtly, hating how calm and collected Castiel seemed despite the fact that _his hand was on Dean's cock_.  Dean had to force himself not to squirm, but something in his expression must have cued Ellen to something, and she gave him a chiding look.

"Easy, boy, I'm not gonna scare him off or anything," she hummed, turning her gaze on the young man in question.  "So, Cas, I haven't seen you around or heard much about you yet-- not from Dean anyways.  How'd you two meet?"

As casual as ever, Cas leant forward, chin rested comfortably on a open palm as he smiled over at Ellen, giving a subtle squeeze at the strained material in his hand.  "I'm his tutor.  We met months ago, I'm surprised he hasn't said anything."

"Now, a tutor he's definitely mentioned."  Ellen gave Dean another look, and he gave a weak shrug, far too distracted by the hand on him, and by the way his hips rocked forward of their own accord.  His own hand gripped at Castiel's wrist, tugging meekly, trying not to be too obvious about what he was doing.  "However, he didn't say you were so charming.  Though, it makes a bit more sense seeing you now and considering just how much he went on about his tutor."

"I didn't go _on_ about him--"

"Dean, aside from work and Sam, he was all you really had to talk about."  Ellen replied, turning her attention to Cas and lowering her voice in mock conspiracy.  "I figured he had a crush, but I didn't want to say anything."

"Took him long enough to figure it out," Castiel chuckled, ignoring the hand on his wrist, though he let up the pressure on his crotch.  "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Letting out a faint sigh of relief, he gave him a bitter looking smile that didn't reach his eyes-- still dark, still wanting.  "You did not just call me sweetheart."

"I believe he did, Dean."  Ellen snickered, though there was something assessing in her gaze, as if gauging how they were with one another.  "Haven't gotten to petnames, yet, then?  You weren't lyin' when you said it was a new thing."

Castiel hadn't expected a positive response, giving Dean a cheeky little grin, all impish as he gave his cock a squeeze.  "He doesn't do petnames, I just like messing with him."

Dean buried his face in one of his hands, hiding the look of rapture that spread over his features, and Ellen took it as embarrassment.

"Well, good.  A pushover won't do for our boy, will it?"  Ellen beamed at him before turning to Dean.  "I gotta get back to balancing the books, but you know the meal is on the house.  Enjoy it.  And Dean?"

He peered up over the edge of his fingers, hoping he looked meek rather than fighting off the urge to rock against Castiel's hand wantonly.

"Be sure to bring your boyfriend around more often," she smiled softly, brimming with affection.  "Seems like a pretty decent catch, if you ask me."

"Thanks, Ellen."  He said, nodding slowly, body tense and expression carefully schooled.  "That means a lot."

"Sure thing."  She replied, sliding out of the booth, and beginning the walk back to her office.  "And don't forget you've got work Wednesday night."

"Won't!"  He called, waiting until she'd turned her back before he slapped at Castiel's arm, trying in vain to get him to get his paws off of him.

"She seems nice."  Cas commented, a smug look on his face as he gave Dean's crotch another squeeze.

Moaning, Dean's eyes widened comically, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.  His eyes fluttered shut, and he rutted forward a moment before he could stop himself, a breathy sound escaping him.  "You're a prick.  A giant, fucking prick.  'M never bringing you out again."

"Yes, you will."  He said confidently, pulling his hand away, deciding he'd had his fun.

Glaring over at him, he slumped forward against the table, aching with desire, and his cock was straining against the confines of his clothes.  Dean squirmed, pouting as he glowered.  "You're still a prick.  You planning on doing that in front of every would-be family member?"  He huffed, shoving at his side.  "Move your ass, I need to get up."

"Had enough have we?"  Cas asked, a cheeky grin on his face, moving so Dean could slide out of the booth.

Standing, he invaded Castiel's space, eyes dark as he leaned in just close enough to kiss but didn't go the final mile.  "If you must know, I have to go to the restroom.  I've got something to take care of."  Pulling back, he grinned wryly, blatantly taunting him as he turned and all but sauntered away.

Somehow, Cas didn't see that coming, nearly choking on his own tongue as he realised.  _The little fucker._   Cursing softly, he sat petulantly back in his seat, disappointed he'd miss what he knew would be a wonderful show.

By the time Dean returned, he looked fresh-faced and relaxed, far too sinuous to be normal.  He smiled lazily at Castiel as he slid back onto their seat, pressing up next to him.  Leaning into his side, he gave him a smug look.  "Hi."

Cas all but pouted when he came back, trying to ignore the little details about Dean's gait, and general air that screamed 'yes I just got off, and no you weren't invited.'  Ignoring him as best he could, he shifted away, leveling a glare at him.

"What's that face for?"  He teased lightly, slipping after him, pressing close again, knowing he was just butt hurt.

He huffed softly, not moving any further despite his mild, and very childish annoyance.  "You know why."

"Do I?"  He chuckled, resting a chin at his shoulder, humming his content.  "Oh, wait.  You mean that whole bathroom thing?  Don't look so put out, baby."  Dean leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.  "If you ask nicely, I can do a repeat performance later."

He perked up considerably at the petname, turning his head to catch his lips in a brief kiss.  "I'll remember that."

Grinning, mostly to himself, he nodded as he settled more comfortably next to him.  "I'm sure you will."

Curling an arm around his waist, Castiel leant back in their booth, a smile spreading his lips. "I'll bring it up when you least expect it."

"Just as long as it isn't in front of anyone I know," he shrugged, leaning into his hold.  "It sounds like a plan to me."

Nudging softly at his neck, Cas let out a soft sigh, enjoying the warmth they shared.  He liked this, more so than he had any of his few other dates.  Humming, Dean took Castiel's free hand in his, laying it out over the table top and spread it out palm up.  Dean let his fingers trace over the lines of his hand, as if trying to memorize each one, content with the arm around his waist. 

Inhaling deeply, he let a smile play over his features as Tessa walked up with their plates.  She grinned at the sight of Dean tangled up with Castiel, setting their meals down in front of them.  Cas offered a soft smile at their waitress, uncharacteristically subdued.  Reluctantly, he sat up, realising that cuddled up to someone isn't the best way to dine.  Sniffing carefully, he hummed in approval, all greasy meat that he assumed was beef and slightly wilted lettuce.

"Just let me know if you need refills on anything-- and I'll get your pie for you when you're ready to go, Dean."  She said, and he beamed at her.

"Thanks, Tess."

"No problem, kiddo."  She winked and then walked off again, leaving the two of them be.

Dean missed the heat of him, but was happy to dig in.  Giving one last smile to Castiel, he turned his attentions to the plate before him, deciding that this had been a very successful first date.

Hopefully the first of many. 


	13. Take All You Need To Make You Love Me (Be Mine)

Castiel wouldn't have even noticed the pending holiday if it wasn't for Gabriel's insistent counting.  His brother had taken quite the shine to the idea of spending the day at Dean's, a fact that made Cas hiss in mild jealousy.  Every reminder he got only heightened his nerves until on the morning of Thanksgiving, he was a wreck, hands shaking as he tried and failed to get his hair to just sit the fuck down for once.   Considering the fact that this was supposed to be a celebration, Cas had a sinking suspicion his day was going to be closer to an appraisal; the entirety of Dean's family being in attendance.

"C'mon, Cassie.  We're gonna be late."  Gabriel called, interrupting his thoughts.  Letting out a shaky sigh, he looked himself over in the mirror one last time, already having discarded the tie on his black button down, much more comfortable without the tiny noose around his neck.

By the time they got to Dean's, Castiel was nearly vibrating out of his own skin, sweaty palmed when he recognized Bobby Singer’s car in the driveway.  Swallowing thickly, he was about to land a tentative knock on the door when Gabriel did it for him, loud and brash in his usual style. 

"Chin up, Cas.  There's free food."

Jody Mills was not who they had expected to answer the door, but she was, and she smiled at the two of them.  "Well, if it isn't my two favorite Novaks."  She chirped at them, looking far too casual without her Sheriff's uniform on as she propped the door open for them.  "Come on in, boys, there are snacks in the living room."

If Cas wasn't panicking before, he definitely was now.  The Sheriff.  _Wonderful_.  Just what a couple of cheap crooks needed to start the day.  Offering a shaky smile, he walked inside, suddenly very conscious on the few wrinkles in his shirt.  Gabriel had no such fears, offering her a lazy grin as he moved in to happily assimilate with the crowd.

Jody shut the door behind them.  The family room was more crowded than usual-- Sam was tucked away between Bobby and Jody's son, a cartoon playing over the TV screen-- small, poorly drawn children dancing and playing music, an odd little cult classic that seemed to play on ABC Family at least once a year.  Plates of appetizers littered the coffee table, and the smell of food cooking filled the house.  It was more homey than it had been most of the year.

"Cas!"  Sam spotted him instantly, scrambling off of the spot he'd been wedged on the couch, and he rushed over beaming.  "You made it.  Dean was worried you guys wouldn't come."

Cas startled a little as Sam raced up to him, offering a small smile as he debated on pulling him into hug before deeming it too awkward.  "Wouldn't miss it." 

It was only a little lie considering his apprehension about the other guests.  Gabriel had since taken to a staring match with the Sheriff’s son, head tilted near bird like as he tried to make the kid laugh with odd faces.

"He's in the kitchen," Sam supplied, smirking and gesturing with a familiar jerk of his head-- he looked so much like Dean in that moment.  "He's kinda nervous honestly.  Don't tell him I told you."

He nodded in understanding, shifting from foot to foot, eager to be both out of the crowd of virtual strangers and with Dean.  "Thank you."  Cas said, walking away to see his boyfriend.

Dean was rushing around the kitchen, completely in his own world as he moved from dish to dish.  He was wearing an apron, dress slacks giving Castiel a lovely view of his ass as he leaned down to check on something that smelled absolutely tantalizing in the oven.  Huffing out a frustrated breath, Dean stood, dragging a hand through his hair.  He looked flustered and rushed, and there was flour smeared over his cheek.

It was terribly endearing, and a soft smile curled over Cas' lips as he watched, nerves melting away slowly.

"Not ready yet?"  Meg asked dryly from where she was leaning against the counter.

"No.  Of course not.  Naturally."  He huffed in irritation, leaning over the stove top in order to set the timer again.  "Jesus fucking christ, is _nothing_ going to cook right today?"

Dean turned to look at her and came to a faltering stop as he spotted Castiel standing in the doorway.  "You're here."

"Of course."  He said simply, and Meg rolled her eyes at the two of them.

Dean let his gaze drift down over him, and he felt suddenly self-conscious in his polo and khakis, but was extremely appreciative of how Cas was dressed.  "You look good."

He flushed faintly at the compliment, giving a modest shrug and resisting the urge to say: 'this old thing' to avoid any further mention.  "So do you."  He said honestly, though he wasn't necessarily talking about only his clothes.

"Oh, my god."  Meg groused, pushing off the counter, heading for the exit.  "Gag me already.  Would you two get a room?  Preferably private and sound proof?"

Laughing, Dean palmed the back of his head, blushing slightly as he stared at Castiel expectantly, waiting until Meg had disappeared into the living room before speaking again.  "I'm glad you decided to show up.  I wanted you here."

Moving closer to Dean, he wiped the smear of flour off his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.  "I couldn't just not turn up."

Humming, Dean smiled, fingers catching in Cas' belt loops in order to pull him in for another kiss.  "I feel like I haven't seen you all week."

"Forty eight hours."  Cas informed, draping his arms around Dean's neck.

Dean hummed again, leaning in and nudging at his nose.  "Still too long.  Especially after spending so much time together."

"Needy."  Cas accused, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Only for you," he quipped, but there was an earnestness about it.

A warm smile curved his lips, seeing the honesty to Dean's words. "I know." Cas mumbled, kissing him again.

Humming against his lips, Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, the other hand sinking into Castiel's hair.  Their mouths slanted over one another's, and Dean shivered in delight.  They spent far too much time kissing.

Letting out a soft sound, Cas shifted a little closer, faintly aware that his attempt to control his hair was now ruined by a very comfortable hand buried in it; though at this point, he couldn't bring himself to care.  Pulling back, faintly breathless, Cas smiled over at him, leaning back in and kissing him once more.  Dean let out a content sound, angling his head to deepen it.  Pressing more flush against Cas' chest, Dean kissed him thoroughly, giving a flick of his tongue over the roof of Cas' mouth.  Dean felt a happiness unfurl in him, like a bright blossom, warm and lively in his chest. 

After a moment, Cas pulled back again, nudging at Dean's nose softly.  "At this rate, you'll burn lunch."  He teased.

"Dinner," he corrected mildly, refusing to move from Cas' hold, smiling lopsidedly.  "I'm glad you came, Cas."

"Glad you invited me."  Cas returned, unwilling to move just quite yet.

Smoothing out his hair, Dean canted his head, staring at him fondly.  Shuffling a bit closer, Dean let his fingers stroke down Cas' neck, thumb brushing over a pulse point.  Dean let out a vaguely regretful sigh, knowing he had to get back to cooking soon.  Resting his forehead against Castiel's, he huffed, smiling and shaking his head subtly.

"I'm such a fucking girl," Dean muttered.  He liked being so close to him, liked having him here, liked _him_.

"Last I checked, you were very male."  Cas said calmly, letting a hand wander down to cup between his legs.

" _Jeezus, Cas._ "  He gasped, eyes widening.

They'd been doing this all week.  The teasing touches-- often in inappropriate places-- that just left the tension between them rocketing up and up.  Dean couldn't help but wonder when it would finally snap.

Cas moved his hand with a cheeky grin on his face, nipping softly at Dean's bottom lip.  "Problem?" 

Dean's eyes fluttered as Castiel palmed him through his pants, and he had to force himself not to lean in and kiss him.  "Yes.  Yes, problem.  Because as much as I would _love_ to let you actually _finish_ what you start?  _Now_ is, like, the worst time ever."

With a soft sigh, Cas took his hand away, landing a soft pat on Dean's ass as he pulled back.  "Later, then."

"You always say that, and then there is no later."  Dean gave him a look, moving over to the stove in order to check on one of the pots.  "You, Castiel Novak, are a giant, fucking tease."

"You're only _just_ figuring that out?"

Laughing, Dean popped open a pan, grabbing a spoon to stir around the green beans before he reached over and gripped a container of brown sugar, sauteing them in butter and sprinkling some of it over them, watching as it turned into a thick sauce.  "No, only just voicing it."  Glancing over his shoulder at him, he smiled coyly, gesturing for him to come closer.  "Come and try this for me?"

Castiel moved as Dean asked, standing over a frankly delectable smelling stovetop.

"What is it?"  He asked, a little dubious despite the smell.

Rolling his eyes, Dean scooped up one of the beans and offered it to him.  "Just try it, okay?"

He leant in a took a bite of the offered food and promptly groaned. _  
_

"Yeah?"  Dean's brow quirked up, and he set the spoon aside, reaching over and turning the oven off.  "Guess they're ready then.  But, just to be sure..."  He leaned in, pressing his lips to Castiel's, tongue swiping deftly, catching some remaining sugar before he pulled away.  "Yep.  They're ready."

Rolling his eyes at the sheer cheesiness of it.  "Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers."  Cas reprimanded, licking what remained from his lips.

"Maybe I just wanted to get you over here," he said nonchalantly, moving to pull a bowl over so that he could empty the pan into it.  "Or maybe I just wanted to hear the sound you'd make when you tried it."

Cas hummed contemplatively, leaning over to steal a bean, eating it before Dean could protest otherwise.  "They are _very_ good."

"Each one you steal is just another kiss you owe me," he murmured, pouring them out into the porcelain bowl with easy movements, and then turned to hand it to him.  "Take this to the table for me?"

"I suppose I'll eat all of them then."  Cas retorted, taking the bowl and carrying it out with no argument.

"Wait for dinner, Cas."  He chided, opening the oven to check on the rolls baking-- the turkey was in the slow cooker and had been all morning.  Things were almost ready, which was good.  He had been starving himself all day in order to make enough room for the food he was making.  "Trust me, you'll want to have plenty of space."

"I think you underestimate my ability to eat."  Cas said bluntly, walking back over from the table.

"I think you underestimate how much food I've made," he said, pulling the rolls from the oven as he placed it on the countertop.  "Seriously, there's a lot."

Cas shrugged stiffly, peering curiously at the food he was making.  "I haven't had a Thanksgiving since I was ten."

"Well, you're about to have the best damn Thanksgiving you've ever experienced."  He replied, moving over to the other bowls he'd left on the counter, covered with foil to prevent heat from leaving.  "Start putting these on the table too?  And get Sam to help?"

Cas nodded, carrying what he could to the table.  There was something strangely cozy about the whole situation, the idle chatter coming from the living room, and the smell of food cooking.  It was the closest he'd been to an actual home for a long time.

"Hey, Sam, could you give me a hand with this?"  Cas asked, sticking his head into the living room.

Sam looked away from where he and Gabriel had been talking intently about the importance of Snoopy in the Charlie Brown cartoons and the merits of the Snoopy dance, giving a petulant groan as he stood from his spot on the couch.  "Did Dean put you up to this?"

"What do you think?"  Cas chuckled, flashing Gabriel a warning glance.

Gabriel laughed, turning his attentions back to the television as Sam joined Castiel in the kitchen.  Jody asked if there was anything she could do, but when Dean called from somewhere in the fridge to tell her to sit down and relax for once, she quieted and settled back next to Bobby.  The old man pressed a kiss to her cheek, his beer dangling from his fingertips. 

"Can I eat anything yet?"  Sam asked curiously, taking the large bowl that Dean handed him with a sour expression.  "Anything not this?"

"No," he replied, ruffling his hair.  "And you make that face every year, but you still eat the ambrosia."

"But you used marshmallows this time," his nose wrinkled, and Dean rolled his eyes as he moved back over to the counter, grabbing more things for Cas to carry for him.  "I don't like marshmallows."

"You'll try it, and you'll like it."

"Jerk," he muttered as he walked away, carrying the bowl with him to the table.

Castiel peered curiously at the bowl as Sam passed, sniffing at it as though he was afraid it might bite.  "Marshmallows?  What the hell are they doing in dinner?"

"It's a sweet salad," Dean mumbled distractedly, handing him a bowl of corn and a platter of freshly cut fruit. 

Cas took the bowl, still a little concerned about the concept of sweet salad.  He shrugged it off and carried the bowl to the table.

It wasn't long before all of the food had been placed on the table, pulled out and set to near perfection.  The good china was out, as it always was on special occasions, and the good silver was in its place on neatly folded napkins.  Dean had taken a great deal of care setting the table, wanting everything to be just right-- for Sam, for Meg, for Cas.  They deserved it, after all. 

Smiling to himself, he hummed, placing the large serving dish at the center, turkey carved out and separated into dark and light meat as he stood back, mentally making sure everything was in place.  Satisfied, he turned, pulling his apron off over his head.  "Alright, soup's up!  Everybody get their butts in here!"

One would think, from the tenacity at which Gabriel scrambled to the table, that the elder Novak had never been fed.  Castiel rubbed a hand over his jaw at his brothers enthusiasm, muttering soft curses in a language that definitely wasn't English.  He hovered at the table awkwardly for a moment, unsure of where he was supposed to sit.

Dean pulled a chair out, plopping down unceremoniously, looking at Cas with an expectant expression, the seat next to him open.  Sam sat at his other side, and Bobby and Jody sat at the head of either side of the table.  Jack plopped down at the side by his mother, and beamed up at Gabriel as the older man sat next to him.  Castiel moved to sit as Dean requested, watching Gabriel's little admirer with a soft smile of amusement.  Kids always had gotten along with his goofball of a brother.

Bobby let out a satisfied sound, staring at the food laid out across the table, and gave Dean a proud look.  "You did good, kiddo."

"Thanks," he chuckled, almost self-consciously, grabbing the water he had out and taking a pull.  "You makin' us pray this year, or can we just dig in?"

"Ain't nuthin' wrong with a bit of prayer, Dean."  Bobby told him, voice soft but chiding before turning his focus back on everyone else.  "C'mon, then.  Hold hands, would'ja?"

Sighing, Dean held out his hands; Sam took it instantly and he leaned forward, peering past his older brother to look at Cas, waiting apprehensively.

Cas hesitated for a moment, taking the offered hand.  Once, he'd done this every night, before every meal, just as everyone else in his family had.  It was familiar and oddly comforting, the strange feeling of connection that came with it. 

Bobby cleared his throat and everyone bowed their heads, though Dean hesitated, along with Meg, and they shared a look from across the table.  Religion was one of those things they had in common-- or, rather, didn't have at all.  Squeezing at the hands in his, he let his eyes fall shut, head hanging slightly in supplication. 

"Lord, thank you for the food that we are about to receive.  For a day of family and friends.  For all of the things you provide to your children.  You are always welcome in our hearts and in our homes.  Amen."

A chorus of "amen"s echoed around the table, and they all dropped their hands, looking ready to dig into the food that was laid out before them.  A straw basket full of warmed rolls was passed around, and they set it on their plates, everyone reaching for some bowl or platter of food.  Dean was in the middle of serving himself up some freshly made cranberry sauce when he faltered.

"So, Castiel, I hear you and Dean are datin'."  Bobby said, completely out of left field, and Dean blanched.

The slice of turkey Cas was holding over his plate nearly dropped from his fork, swallowing thickly, suddenly very nervous all over again.  He wanted nothing more than to just disappear.  Clearing his throat, he nodded.  "Uh.  Yeah, we are."

Bobby pursed his lips, humming, looking over at Castiel assessingly.  "And what exactly are your intentions?"

"Bobby!"  Dean balked, glaring over at him.

"It's a perfectly fine question," he grumbled, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat as he glanced back over at Castiel pointedly.  "Now, your intentions, boy?"

Swallowing thickly, Castiel shifted in his seat.  Unconsciously, he reached for Dean's sleeve under the table, gripping at it.  The anchor helped him not to stutter so much around his words.  "I mean him no harm, if that's what worries you."

"I'm not assumin' you mean him any harm," Bobby smiled, but it wasn't as pleasant as it might've been.  "But I'd like to know that you're not just tryin' to get in my boy's pants."

Meg didn't even bother hiding her laughter, and Sam made a face, nose wrinkling in distaste.  Dean choked on his own saliva, eyes comically wide as he stared over at him.  " _Bobby_!"

"It's an honest to God question, Dean."

"Jody," Dean hissed, looking her way pleadingly. 

Sighing, she set her glass of wine aside.  "Robert Singer, there are children present."

"Jackie doesn't know what I'm talkin' about, and Sam's old enough."  Bobby shrugged, pressing forward despite the looks both Dean and Jody gave him in response.  "You're older, graduating this year, from what I understand, right?"

Clearing his throat, Castiel sat a little straighter, holding Bobby's stare despite his nerves.  "Would you prefer it if I wrote you out a contract in sacrificial blood promising my celibacy, or is a simple promise good enough?  _Yes_ , I'm graduating this year, but frankly, I don't see how that affects anything."

"As much as I enjoy _not_ thinking about Dean doing anything other than rated-G things, I don't expect many teenagers to be celibate."  Bobby replied, giving him a vaguely scolding look for the sass.  "I'm just pointing out that you're a bit older than Dean, and I just want to make sure you aren't planning on taking advantage."

"Oh, my god, Bobby, could we not?"  Dean barked, blushing a terribly deep shade of red.  They did _not_ need to be having this conversation.  And Castiel definitely didn't need Meg looking smug and amused from across the table, or Gabriel sinking awkwardly into his chair. 

Perhaps the snark was not Castiel’s best decision.  Letting out a soft huff, he let go of Dean's wrist, his previous nerves being replaced with blatant exasperation.  "I could be a few centuries older than him and it wouldn't change my attitude to the topic.  We've already discussed this at some length, so if you'd be ever so kind and drop the subject, I'm sure Dean would be thankful."

Bobby paused, peering at him and nodding his head slowly.  "Not planning on taking advantage then.  Good to know.  What are you plannin' on doing after you graduate?"

Dean sighed, reaching for the hand that had just let his wrist go. 

"Would you boys stop with the sighin'?"  Bobby groused.  "I've seen him at the station more than once, Dean.  I'm just making sure he's the right kind of guy for you."

"And you don't trust _my_ judgement?"  Dean asked, fingers lacing with Castiel's beneath the table. 

"Not as far as I can throw you," he replied, taking a pull from his beer.

Meg smiled, small but knowing, and Dean felt her kick at his shoe.  "Bobby, if it makes you feel any better, I can vouch for Castiel's... nobility.  He's a good guy.  Just give him a chance."

“Alright, alright,” Bobby nodded, grinning.  “That still doesn’t answer my question about what you’re doing when you’re graduatin’, Castiel.”

Castiel squeezed gently at the hand in his, offering a grateful smile in Meg's direction.  "College, with any luck Juilliard, by they're very picky."

"And where's Julliard?"  Bobby asked curiously, and Dean looked over at Castiel, brow furrowed.

"New York," Dean answered absently for him, feeling a pang of loss.  They hadn't talked about it, about anything like it, and he was kicking himself for forgetting that Castiel probably had plans.  That he wanted to get out of there as much as Dean did.  Clearing his throat, he looked over at Bobby, feeling sullen but hiding it behind a pleasant facade.  "It's in New York."

Bobby whistled.  "Long ways away.  What do you wanna do there?"

"Bachelor of Fine Arts in Drama."  Castiel replied, squeezing at Dean's hand again. "It's a long shot.  They don't accept many people."

"Well, I wish you luck then."  Bobby said with a small grin, genuine.  "We've been tryin' to talk to Dean about looking at colleges.  He's a might hesitant about it.  Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"I've already tried."  Cas said flatly, giving Dean a pointed look.

"Aaand on a different note," Dean cut in, desperately wanting the topic to change.  "How is everything?"

Castiel ploughed onwards, tugging at his hand gently and leaning a little closer to him.  "You're going to have to think about it eventually." 

"I've thought about it," he muttered, almost inaudible as he shuffled his food around his plate, lies slipping over his lips.  "It's just...  I'm not interested in anything yet."

"You like sports," Meg supplied helpfully.  "Or you're good at them anyways.  And Charlie told me about the _volunteer_ work that you do at the library."

"Volunteer work?"  Jody asked curiously from around a bite of stuffing, hand politely resting over her mouth.

Dean glanced over at her, shaking his head, trying his best to get her to shut up.

Castiel raised his eyebrows, dulled metal glinting as he tilted his head.  "No, go on.  I haven't heard about this yet."

Meg smirked, not even looking apologetic as Dean buried his face in his free hand.  "He reads."

"Most people do, especially at the library."  Sam muttered, but he was grinning wryly, enjoying his brother's embarrassment. 

"No, he reads.  Like, out loud."  Meg continued, beaming with faux innocence.  "To little kids.  Our Dean-o is a do-gooder."

Blushing helplessly, Dean squirmed.  Nobody knew about his volunteer work that he did.  He had wanted to keep it that way.

"You're the Sunday reader?"  Jody asked, pleasantly surprised.  "Jack's friend Beth goes to that-- her mom just gushes about you.  Bela Talbot?  You've met her, right?"

Dean only reddened further.  Oh, he knew Mrs. Talbot.  "Yeah, I know her."

For a moment, Castiel thought Meg was kidding, eyeing her off until he noticed Dean blushing out of the corner of his eye.  "No way."  He mumbled, peering at him, the grin on his face getting broader as the story unfolded.  Gabriel nearly snorted up his beer, far too amused by the mental images of Dean reading to little kiddies.  "Well if that isn't the cutest thing I've heard all day."

"Aren't you reading _this_ Sunday, Dean?"  Meg asked, tilting her head curiously.

"He is," Jody replied for him.  "Every other Sunday, right?  I've heard there are supposed to be puppets this time."

Dean had never wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole so much in his life, and he let out a long sigh.  "... sock puppets.  Garth is helping me."

It took Castiel a moment to process exactly what that would look like, abruptly dissolving into laughter when he did.  Eventually, he calmed down enough for slightly giggly speech, grinning broadly at him.  "This I have to see."

"Please, don't."  Dean looked over at him imploringly before directing a glare Meg's way.  "What exactly is the point?"

"You like kids."  Meg said dryly, as if he didn't know himself.  "You like working with kids.  What about being a teacher?"

Dean instantly tensed, hand clutching tightly at Castiel's.  Everyone at the table fell quiet, Bobby frowning to himself, and Jody cleared her throat awkwardly.  Even Sam seemed to sink down in his chair a bit.  Gabriel glanced around curiously, and Meg looked vaguely confused.

Sensing that this conversation had reached it's end, Castiel gave his elder brother a pointed look; the same one he gave when a mark became a little too handsy.  Gabriel nodded subtly, turning to Bobby with an open smile on his face.  "So, I hear you work in mechanics."

"Own my own garage and junkyard," Bobby jumped at the chance to change the topic, and Dean stared down blankly at his plate for a long moment as pleasant conversation took off between the rest of them.

Blinking past his daze, Dean pushed back from the table, clearing his throat and excusing himself quietly as he left the room.  Castiel watched as Dean got up, hesitating for a moment before following him, excusing himself with a quiet mutter as he took off after him. 

Dean was in the bathroom when he found him, cupping cold water and splashing it over his face.  He was shaking slightly, shivering while he stood there.  His breath was hitching, catching slightly in throat, and he rubbed a trembling hand over his face. 

A furrow marred Cas' lips almost instantly upon seeing him, walking up to him and placing a hand between his shoulder blades.  "You okay?"

He jumped slightly, startling, and he let out a long breath as he caught Cas' gaze in the mirror.  Dean went to tell him that he was fine, that there wasn't anything wrong, but he ended up shaking his head instead, hand running over his mouth.  "No.  Will you shut the door?"

Without a word, Cas shut the door for him, returning to stand at his side a second later.  "What's wrong?"  He asked, tone gentle as he rubbed over the back of his neck.

"Um, I..."  Dean tried, turning to face him, leaning back against the sink, voice softening.  "...my mom was a teacher.  Before she died." 

All the air went out of him, a pained little smile on his face as he shuffled closer.  "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he breathed, glancing up at him, returning the smile with a sad one of his own.  "I just... She loved it.  She loved teaching.  I never thought about it as an option for me.  I don't think I could do it justice."

"Of course you could."  Cas told him, rubbing a thumb along the line of his jaw.  "Do you like it?  Teaching people?"

"It's not horrible."  He laughed faintly, leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.  "I like the kids.  I like working with them.  I like how much they love learning."

"Then do it.  If you want to that is."  He said.

"I don't know what I want to do," He said, meeting his gaze again, hand coming up to rest over the one at his cheek.  "I've never thought about.  Never let myself.  But I don't- I don't think I could do that job.  I don't think I could do what she did."

"Then don't."  Cas said evenly.  "You don't have to decide now."

"I don't?"

"Of course not."

"Okay," he nodded, and it was as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, relief flooding through him.  "Okay.  I'll decide when I'm ready then."

Castiel smiled at him, looping an arm around his neck.  "But, when you do decide, tell me?"

"I will," he promised gaze affectionate as he looked at him.  "Thank you."

He leant in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.  "Come on, we're missing dinner."

Dean chased after his mouth, wanting another kiss from him.  He slanted his mouth over Castiel’s, hand fisting in his shirt and tugging him just that bit closer.

Apparently dinner could wait.  Letting out a soft sigh, Castiel curled an arm around his waist, fitting them together snugly as they kissed.  Dean arched into him, other hand threading into Castiel's hair. 

It was a slow and easy, languid as their mouths worked together.  Dean found himself pressed back against the counter, pinned in by the familiar weight of Cas' body, and also found that he didn't mind it one bit. 

Pulling back, faintly breathless, Cas nudged softly at Dean's nose, resting a hand against the bathroom counter.  He leant back in again, lips brushing slowly, just far enough to speak.  "Y'know, people are gonna talk when we both walk out of here."

"Meg might," Dean conceded, breathing the same breath as him, kissing him and keeping their mouths brushing as they spoke, unwilling to disconnect from him even for a moment.  "The others will just think you're _comforting_ me.  Which, in a way, you are."

"Comforting.  That's what they call it these days."  Cas chuckled, kissing him again, long and easy, like they had all day.

Humming against his mouth, Dean parted his lips in invitation, tongue swiping out in tease.  They kissed like that for a long time, all lips and teeth and tongue.  Dean all but melted against him, fingers carding idly through Cas' hair, and the hand that had been clutching at his shirt drifted down to his hip.  Pulling Cas more fully against him, their legs tangled together, thighs between thighs and he rocked forward subtly.  Castiel was quite sure that this did not qualify as comfort, though he saw no reason to stop.  The rock of Dean's hips drew blatant attention to the rush of heat between his legs, shifting a little in attempt to take some of the pressure off as they kissed. 

Dean whined as Cas tried to move away and pulled him back closer.  Taking the hint that Dean found nothing wrong with the situation, he pressed back in again, slipping a hand up the back of his shirt.  Dean's spine curved as warm fingers trailed up his back, and he shivered against Cas.  Letting out a soft sound, Dean pulled back until their lips were just barely brushing, panting breathlessly against his mouth for a moment before he canted his head and licked his way back in.  His hips gave another slow roll, small but there, and he mewled into the kiss.

Cas let out a soft groan, fumbling as he gripped at the counter to avoid falling over, his knees going weak.  He had since decided that the little mewl Dean gave was his favorite, giving a slow roll of his body in effort to gain another.  Pawing at him, Dean arched further, hands groping blindly over Cas' frustratingly clothed body.  His hips stuttered in reply, and Dean let out another keen, only to have it swallowed up between them.  Pressure provided the most tantalizing friction, and Dean felt heat begin to coil low in his gut. 

Pulling back, Cas slipped his hand further up Dean's shirt, letting out a faint grunt of frustration when it wouldn't go any further.  "Are we really doing this?"  He asked, mouthing over his jaw line slowly.

"We--" Dean moaned, letting his head fall back as Castiel's lips moved over his skin.  "We probably shouldn't."  His words said one thing, but his body another.  Dean's grip on him did not let up, and his hips rocked again, more insistently as his abdomen flexed, revealed from beneath the rising hem of his shirt. 

"No, we shouldn't."  Cas mumbled against his neck, moving his hands around to drag up his chest.

"We should stop," Dean muttered half-heartedly, rutting against him, hips meeting hips, and a whine escaped him.  "We should--" he gasped as teeth scraped over his pulse point.  " _definitely_ stop."

"Would you like to?"  Cas asked, voice muffled as he continued his way down Dean's neck, as far as he could considering his shirt.

" _No_ ," he admitted, blunt nails dragging over his shirts material that stretched over his back, and he let out a small sound of frustration.  "But we should.  We can't-- there are people--"  Dean's hips jerked slightly as Cas' mouth kissed a sensitive part right above his collar.  " _Later_.  Stay the night.  Later."

Reluctantly, Cas pulled away, reddened lips curling into a smile.  "I'll hold you to that."  He promised, pressing one last quick kiss to Dean's lips before he pulled back, straightening out his shirt at best he could.

"Yeah, well, you were just holding me against the bathroom sink, and you're not doing that anymore."  Dean remarked dryly, tugging his shirt back down and shifting uncomfortably in his pants. 

"Hilarious." Cas drawled, ruffling a hand through his hair in effort to get it to sit flatter.

Grinning, Dean shuffled forward, tamping down the heat that had been burning through him and replacing it with a buzzing anticipation.  "I know I am."  Dean nudged at his shoe playfully, reaching out to smooth his collar down, invading his space again, lowering his voice as he stared at him earnestly.  "But seriously, Cas.  Stay the night?"

Castiel smiled at him, tilting his head as Dean fixed his collar.  "I'll stay.  Good luck convincing Gabe though."

Dean made a face, shaking his head, a teasing glint in his eyes.  "Gabriel can go home.  I just want you."

Castiel all but beamed at him, grabbing one of his hands and pressing a soft kiss to the top of it.  "Come on.  Before they miss us."

They walked back out into the dining room together, settling back down at the table.  Everyone was laughing and talking, getting along well; it warmed Dean to see it.  It was like actually having a family.  He dug back into his meal, and they both fell back into the conversation without a hitch.  Though Meg did shoot him a knowing look, her fingers brushing meaningfully over her collar, and Dean was quick to adjust his shirt over the mark that Cas had left.  More food than usual was tucked away, and Dean felt more full than he had in a very long time. 

After everyone had had their fill, Bobby and Jody excused themselves, saying that they needed to get Jack home before he decided to fall asleep on Dean's couch like he had the year before.  Meg was the next to go, kissing Dean on the cheek and tucking a presumptuous condom into his pocket before she was on her way to sneak into Charlie's place.  Dean was in the middle of putting the last of the food away when Sam declared that he was tired and going to bed, leaving Cas and Gabriel with him in the kitchen.

"Gabe?"  Dean called over his shoulder, peering over at the man as he lounged with his feet propped up on the table.  "You want some pie to take home with you?"

From his place on the couch, Gabriel tipped his head back to peer at Dean, near identical to his brother with the intensity of his gaze.  "I'm leaving?"  He said, a little surprised.

"Unless you're staying," Dean replied, sealing a Tupperware container before turning to look at him.  "The couch pulls out."

From within the kitchen, Castiel glared pointedly at his elder brother, making distinct shooing motions,  wanting him gone.  Gabriel tilted his head slightly, manic grin curling his lips.

"Yeah.  I think I'll stay, thanks, Dean-o."  He said, and Cas groaned softly from in the kitchen, glaring vehemently at him.

Tucking the last of the food away into the fridge, Dean smiled to himself, and shut the door before grabbing Castiel by the wrist and bringing him into the living room with him.  "The bedding is already in there.  You can pull it out while I grab you some spare pillows."

The glare on Cas' face didn't waver, pinning his brother with an annoyed look.  He had wanted some privacy, but apparently, Gabriel had other ideas.  His elder brother rose and pulled the couch out with as little fuss as possible.

Tugging Castiel up the stairs, Dean brought him into his room and guided him over to the bed, placing his hands on his shoulders and sitting him down on the edge of it. 

"Be right back."  He murmured, leaning in to press a fleeting kiss to his lips, and then he was leaving. 

A couple of minutes passed before Dean was in the room again, closing the door behind him with a soft click, pressing his back to it as he offered up a small smile to Castiel.  There was a knot of nervousness that had settled low in his stomach, nerves buzzing with anticipation. 

Swallowing thickly, Dean shifted uneasily, not sure how to begin.  It was different when they were in the heat of it, kissing devolving into something far more heated and incredibly tempting.  This was awkward and tense, and it had Dean blushing prematurely.

"Hi."  Dean breathed, voice shaking slightly. 

Cas glanced up with wide eyes, watching as he offered up that small smile to him.  It wasn't as though Cas was new to this, but there was something confronting about the knowledge of what, if all went well, was to come.

"Hey."  He mumbled, standing up and moving over to him, taking one of Dean's hands for comfort. 

Tangling their fingers together, Dean tugged gently, until Castiel was shuffling just that bit closer.  It left very little space between them, and he could feel the heat radiating off of Cas.  His tongue darted out, swiping over his lips, and Dean leaned in just a bit, Cas' nose bumping against his.

"Should we just...  start kissing then?"

Cas gave him a soft smile, finding his little questions endearing.  "You can't force it."  He said, letting a hand run down the side of his face.  "Just, let it happen."

Leaning in to the touch, Dean let his eyes drift shut for a moment, Cas' free hand coming up to rest at Dean's hip, thumb rubbing just above the waistline of his slacks.  Gaze meeting Castiel's again, he took a slow, deep breath and let their lips just barely brush.  His voice fell hushed and inviting, body easing against him.  "Just let it happen."

Feeling him relax, Castiel closed the distance between them, kissing him slowly, not wanting to rush him into anything.  Humming against his lips, Dean tilted his head and kissed him back languidly.  Hand untangling from Castiel's, it came up to run over the soft material at his collar, rounding to the back of his neck so that he could let his fingers sink into the short hair at the base of his head. 

After a long moment of simple, easy presses of their mouths, Dean kissed him more firmly, lips parting lips as he swiped his tongue out over Castiel's, sucking in a soft breath.  Each little sweep of Dean's tongue drew a soft shiver from Cas, letting his hands curl into the material of Dean's shirt, tugging softly.  After a while, Cas pulled back, breathless as he smiled at him, toying with the hem if Dean's shirt.

Heart stammering slightly, Dean kissed him again, chaste but sweet and then shifted back and raised his arms in invitation.  "Go ahead."

A warm smile curled his lips, lifting Dean’s shirt up over his head, and leaving it discarded on the floor.  Cas took a moment to admire him, letting his fingers wander over Dean's stomach, tracing out lean muscle. 

Dean's breath caught as Castiel's hand drifted down over his skin.  The last time he'd been this bare before him was in the locker room, during their first kiss, and the thought made him shiver.  The way they'd pawed at one another, unfamiliar and new.  And he felt a rush of heat go through him when he thought of how much better they knew each other now, and how easy Castiel's hands felt on his skin.  How _right_.

His hands reached out for Cas, pulling him back close by his shirt, and he began working the buttons open one at a time.  Resting back against the door, taking in each inch of revealed skin, Dean's fingers faltered when the shirt fell open enough for him to catch sight of his piercings.  Eyes flashing, his gaze flickered up to Castiel's for a moment, hands itching to touch.

"Which one's numb again?"  Dean asked, hands skirting up his sides and to his shoulders, pushing the material down as he admired the muscles he hid beneath it.

Cas was so preoccupied with tracing out the ladder of Dean's ribs, he nearly didn't notice his shirt being undone, it wasn't until cool air hit his skin that he realized, a shiver running through him.  His breath hitched as hands moved over him, shrugging his shoulders to let his shirt fall back, no longer fussed about all the time he'd taken ironing it.  Identical silver rings hung from his nipples, one a little discolored from previous infection. 

"Right."

"So the left one..." Dean muttered absently, thumb brushing over his nipple and caught lightly on the small ring attached to it, wondering what kind of reaction he might gain.  "Is the sensitive one?"

Spitting out a soft curse, Cas arched ever so slightly into his touch.  He'd forgotten how good that felt, the little thrill of heat that shivered through him.  Dean’s gaze hovered as he practically ate up sight of him, and his eyes flashed as he pulled gently at it again, lips parted in a keen kind of awe.  Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut, groaning softly as Dean tugged just hard enough.

Darting forward, Dean caught Castiel's lips with his own, the look on his face too much for him to handle.  Drawing him close, moaning as skin met skin, Dean kissed him thoroughly, hungrily.  Cas let out a little huff of shock, not expecting the intensity of it.  His hands clung to whatever skin he could reach, tugging and skating over as he learned the pattern of Dean's body.

Whining faintly, embarrassingly needy, against Cas' mouth, Dean arched into him.  His hands skirted around to his back, dragging down over the muscles that were there, until he reached the curve of Cas' ass.  Cupping it, he gave a firm squeeze, and then jerked Castiel's hips forward against his.  A moan was eaten up greedily between them, and Dean craved more friction like a starved man, practically begging with his lips and his tongue, sucking tauntingly at Castiel's. 

Cas let out a low groan, lost between them as he was pulled forward, the muscles of his back flexed under his hands, making the tattoo on his back seem to shift.  He pulled back, panting, and glassy eyed, tugging at the belt loops of Dean’s pants as he walked them back, deciding a door wasn't exactly the most comfortable of venues.

Dean followed blindly, far too preoccupied with mouthing over Castiel's neck, sucking a mark into the skin just below his ear.  They stumbled a bit on their way to the bed, but made it there as safe as can be, stopping as the backs of Castiel's legs hit the edge of the mattress.  Finally coming up for air, Dean met his gaze, breathless as he rocked their hips together.

How they managed not to fall over, Cas would never know, far too concerned with the feel of warm skin underneath his hands.  He groaned softly as their hips met, dropping a hand to cup and the swell of Dean's ass.  Panting softly, Cas pulled away, just far enough to climb onto Dean's bed, a playful little smile on his face as he beckoned him closer. 

Dean's mouth went dry.  Castiel was in his bed, waiting for him expectantly.  Castiel wanted him.  _This is actually happening._  

Moving, Dean climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, and it was only when he settled there that he realized he was shaking.

"You okay?"  Cas asked, hands traveling up the length of his back, fingers tracing over his spine.

Dean nodded, shivering under his touch, relaxing in his hold.  He braced his hands at Castiel's shoulders, leaning in to press a ginger kiss to his lips.  "I'm fine.  It's just nerves."

Castiel offered him a soft smile, hands running down his back and around to press at the flat planes of his chest.  “Tell me if you get uncomfortable?"

"I will," he said honestly, fingers tightening at his shoulders as Castiel's hands came up over his skin.  "Kiss me again?"

Cas leaned in that little bit further, sealing their lips together in a slow kiss, not wanting to push him too far.  Draping his arms around his neck, Dean tangled a hand into his hair and tugged lightly until Castiel's head was angled back enough for Dean to deepen it.  Cas let out a soft growl as his hair was pulled, moving obediently as Dean's hand guided him back.  Shuffling just a touch closer, Dean stopped as their chests pressed together, shuddering pleasantly as he felt the brush of metal along his skin.

Licking his way past Cas' lips, he flicked his tongue over the roof of Cas' mouth, wanting to coax some kind of reaction out of him.  The previously hungry grab of Castiel’s hands softened to something far more complacent, all but melting against him as Dean took over.

It wasn't long before the kiss turned messy.  It was a languid mesh of their mouths-- tongues stroking, teeth nipping, and lips pressing until Dean needed to breathe again.  Breaking away, his forehead resting against Castiel's, a string of saliva snapping when their mouths moved too far apart.  Panting, he stroked through Cas' hair, wanting nothing more than to rut against him until they were both lost in each other, but finding the slow pace aggravatingly perfect.

The fingers running through his hair stalled Cas’ urge to push him back and just take already, knowing he would have to be patient.  He rocked his hips slowly, biting back a mewl at the friction it provided.  Nudging gently at Cas' nose, Dean rolled his hips in reply, body moving sinuously above him.  A sound that was a cross between a moan and a whine caught with a gasp as Dean ground against him more firmly, keeping his forehead resting against Castiel's as they started up an even rhythm, rocking together.

Heat pooled low in Castiel’s gut, shifting against him as their hips rocked like a steady pulse, kissing Dean briefly, messily as they moved.  "Pants probably aren't the best thing to do this in."

"Yeah," Dean breathed, nodding absently, too busy rutting down against him, mind lost in the sparks of pleasure that ran along his nerves.  "Probably.  We should probably fix that, then."

"We should," Cas agreed, glad he had Dean's say so as he undid the clasp of Dean’s pants, heart racing as he tugged insistently.  Part of him expected to wake up about now, sweat covered and in need of a very cold shower.

Breath catching, Dean stilled, and shifted back until he was standing before him, hands back on his shoulders.  Dean swallowed thickly, giving him silent permission to tug his khakis down.  His abdomen flexed, chest rising and falling shallowly, nerves buzzing as he waited. 

Moving to sit in front of him, Cas looked up at him with a mischievous grin on his face, tugging his pants down, half tempted to lean in and teach him what a blow job felt like.  He pressed a kiss to the jut of his hip, nipping softly, eyes rolling up to catch his reaction.

Dean quivered.  Staring down at him, his jaw fell faintly slack, heart falling over itself in his chest, and he was incredibly grateful for his boxer-briefs despite the way his cock was straining against the material, a small wet spot forming where the head of it was.  Shivering, he stroked through Castiel’s hair, catching his lower lip between his teeth to bite back the needy sound he wanted to make. 

"What are we doing?"  Dean asked, voice cracking slightly, unable to help himself.  "How far-- What are we going to do?"

"Anything you'd like."  Castiel replied, sucking a mark into his skin just above the line of his underwear, cupping a hand over the bulge between his legs and squeezing ever so slightly.

He moaned, hips jerking forward, pressing into his palm as he squeezed his eyes shut and clung to Cas for a moment.  "I- I don't know.  I don't even know where to start."

Cas pulled back, offering a soft smile as he reached up and took one of Dean's hands, ignoring the scream of his own body for a moment.  "Would you like me to show you?"  He asked, confident he could get him off.

"Yes," he breathed, tangling their fingers together, and squeezing.  "I trust you.  Please?"

Tugging at his hand, Castiel pulled him back down, something in him warming as the knowledge that he was trusted.  "Lay back for me."

Nodding, Dean moved as instructed, laying down on top of the comforter, head cushioned by his pillows.  He stared up at Cas, eyes bright even in the dim light of his bedroom, and Dean brought Castiel's hand to his lips, brushing a fleeting kiss there as he waited.

Moving to crawl over him, Cas smiled at the gesture, nudging softly at his nose.  "If you'd like me to stop, just say."  He murmured, dropping his head to mouth over his neck.

Tilting his head back, Dean let out a breathy sound, keeping hold of Castiel's hand as the other bunched in the fabric of his bedding.  "Don't want you to stop.  Just want you."

Cas gave a soft groan of approval, squeezing at Dean's hand as he let his lips wander down over his sternum, fingers running over warm skin.  Each kiss, and nip, and lick he gave was experimental, learning what made Dean whine, and what did nothing for him.

The mewl Dean gave tapered off as he bit his lower lip, muffling the sound as he squirmed faintly beneath him, arching into the drag of Castiel's hand as it moved down over his abdomen.  His gaze fluttered, and he swallowed down another sound as hot breath ghosted over one of his nipples, hand tightening reflexively in Castiel's as his cock gave an interested twitch. 

Castiel raised his head upon noting Dean's reaction, a giddy little grin on his face as he covered a pert nipple with his lips, licking and sucking at it.  A delightfully startled sound escaped Dean, back curving off of the bed slightly as a hot mouth lapped at his nipple, and an involuntary moan slipped over his lips.  The hand clutching at the material of comforter went to the back of Cas' head, fingers tangling into dark hair in order to ground himself.

Cas let out a throaty groan as a hand went to his hair, probably too loud considering there were other people in the house.  Spurred on by the tug at his scalp, he sucked at Dean's nipple for a moment longer, pulling back to repeat to process on its twin. 

Arching, Dean shuddered, breath hitching helplessly as his hips gave a tiny buck, and his fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair.  " _Cas_."

He raised his head again, smirking up at him despite the nervous pound of his heart, and the thrill that came with having his hair pulled like that.  "Yes, Dean?"

"Don't-- Why--"  He looked down, meeting his gaze, in a dazed kind of panic.  "Don't stop."

Cas pressed a soft kiss to the center of his chest, expression softening as he let a slow hand run up the inside of his thigh, gentle almost as he gauged Dean's reaction.  Pupils blowing wide, eyes dark, Dean held his gaze and let his legs fall open just slightly in response as he pulled gingerly, coaxingly at Cas' hair, wanting to kiss him again.  Cas let his hand settle just over the bulge of his cock, squeezing softly as he raised his head, complying with Dean's unspoken wishes and slanting their mouths together.

Dean was grateful for it because they muffled the heady moan he let out, body rolling beneath him as Castiel's cupped him through his underwear.  Untangling the hand that was laced with Cas', Dean let it drift down between them, fumbling with the buckle of Castiel’s pants, wanting nothing more than to return the favor.  Lifting his hips in order to give Dean an actual chance of getting his pants off, Cas tilted his head, licking at his lips, greedy as they kissed.

Managing to unfasten Cas' slacks, Dean freed his hand from Castiel's hair, and tugged the material down to mid-thigh.  Fingers wandering-- to Cas' chest, along his ribs, down over his stomach and to his hips-- Dean sucked at the tongue in his mouth, letting a finger catch on the waistband of Cas' briefs as he pulled and then let it snap back playfully against his hip. 

Cas let out a surprised sound against his lips, wiggling in order to shuck his pants off, kicking them away.  Pulling back, he panted softly, eyes gone dark as he stared down at him, hand shaking ever so slightly as he squeezed at Dean's cock, rubbing the palm of his hand over the ever growing wet spot at its head. The expression that fell over Dean’s face could only be considered enraptured. 

Mouth parted and kiss-swollen, eyes glazed and wanting, and Dean stared up at him with desire.  With affection.  With awe.  It was like everything stood still for a moment, and he gazed up at him breathlessly, hand coming up to cup Cas' jaw.  Thumb brushing over his cheek, Dean let his other hand move over Castiel's crotch, palming the length of him through his underwear with a bit of tentativeness.

Cas let his head fall slack against Dean's hand, squeezing his eyes shut as he let out a soft groan, finally getting a little attention.  Opening his eyes, Castiel slipped a hand down the front of Dean’s underwear, taking hold of his length loosely and working it out of its confines.

After the initial shock, the pleasure making him arch and thrust up into Cas' hand, Dean pressed more firmly against Castiel's cock.  Keening very softly, he mimicked Cas' motions, delving beneath the waistband of his briefs to grasp Cas with a surprising amount of finesse.  Giving a slow stroke, Dean watched him avidly, shaking nervously and with excitement. 

Biting back a moan, Cas let his body undulate, slow and controlled motions that made the squeeze of Dean’s hand all the better.  Breathless, Cas nodded his approval, dipping his head to nip just under Dean's ear, stroking over Dean's cock with sure movements.

Head falling to the side to offer up more room, Dean arched and rolled, muscles flexing as pleasure had him moaning beneath the weight of Castiel's body.  Gripping him a bit tighter, Dean pumped with more sure movements, arm coming up to drape over Cas' shoulders-- to keep him close, to let his nails drag bluntly over inked shoulder blades.  It was an idle, easy pace as they worked each others cocks, keeping rhythm with one another. 

Letting out a stifled groan, Castiel sucked at Dean's neck, shoulders arching back as nails scraped down them.  "Like that.  Ke-keep going."  He murmured, urging him on.

Panting, Dean nodded, encouraged by his words, his sounds, his body moving above him.  Increasing the pace, Dean thumbed over the head of Cas' cock, like he did to himself frequently, and gave a quick twist of his wrist in order to draw more reactions from him.

All the air went out of him, grinding down against Dean’s hand as heat curled in his gut.  Cas raised his head to admire the red mark he'd left, looking down at Dean, watching his reactions as he twisted his wrist too, stroking faster over him.

Dean's chest rose and fell unevenly, and he strained prettily as he rocked up into Cas' hand, moaning wantonly.  Heat was coiling in Dean, tightening and tightening below his navel as ecstasy broiled through him.  Meeting Cas' gaze blearily, Dean panted, fingers dragging apologetically over the marks he'd left with his nails.  Cas let out a long groan, snapping his hips forward a last few times before he came, spilling into Dean's hand with a low growl of a moan.  Panting softly, he rubbed his thumb over the head of Dean's cock, trying to get him to come.

It was like a struggle.  A strange feeling-- gratitude and hunger.  It almost felt like punishment.  Dean kept thinking about the word _thrum_ , his nerves buzzing as Cas brought him closer and closer.  There was a flame that tried to catch; he could hear it, he could feel it.  It was like there was something he was _after_ , something he was trying to achieve, and there was a sense of danger that he might miss it, might not find it, might not get ahold of it.  There was a terrible moment when he was afraid that he wouldn’t reach it, that he would lose it, that it wouldn’t work, that _he_ wouldn’t work and he writhed with this sense, so very, very desperate. 

And at the same time, he wanted to stay there.  Wanted to draw out that feeling of desperation, stay in that perfect place between because it was so _good_.  Because he was almost there, _he was almost there_ , he could feel it burning, and then suddenly he arrived.

Dean went stiff, jerking and spasming slightly, and his breath came shorter until there was a half-strangled cry falling over his lips.  Until he was spilling out over Cas' hand, hips stuttering, and euphoria washed through him.  Sticky and wet and hot, he panted, trying to catch his breath as he stared up at Cas in a state of raw bliss, a slow smile curling over his mouth.

Cas watched as he came with an enraptured expression, pulling his hand back, a little lost as to what to do with the mess they'd made.  Panting softly, he nudged at Dean's nose, affectionate as he went lax against him, a satisfied little grin on his face as he fell face first into the mattress next to him.

Staring up at the ceiling, still kind of breathless, Dean huffed out a little laugh.  "That totally just happened."

From his place buried in the bedding, Castiel let out a soft grunt, raising his head to regard him blearily.  "It did."  He said, voice oddly smooth as he spoke, all languid and sated.

Looking over at him, beaming despite the filth on his hand, his stomach, and his cock, Dean shifted closer until they were pressed along each others sides.  "We totally just did that."

Cas flopped an arm around him, a little sweaty, as they pressed together.  "Was fun."  He mumbled, turning his head to look at him, hair all messed up.  "Should do it again sometime."

"Mhmm.  Like soon sometime."  Dean hummed his agreement, curling up with him, and shivering with the cold.  "We should get under the covers."

"We should clean up."  Cas countered, rolling over onto his side lethargically.

Dean made a face, limbs lax, but he slowly got to his feet and made his way over to his bathroom with a fatigued grumble.  Tugging his underwear up on the walk over, he kneeled in front of the cabinet under the sink and fished out a hand towel.  Standing back up, he cranked the hot water on, holding his hand there as he waited for it to warm up.  His gaze strayed to the mirror, and he sucked in a small gasp at the sight of himself-- disheveled and thorough debauched.  A smile twitched over his lips, and there was a deep thrum of satisfaction that rolled through him as he turned his attention back to the water.

Once the towel was warm and soaked, he rang it out just enough and headed back into the bedroom to find Castiel waiting.  Climbing back onto the bed, he softly urged Cas to roll over, and straddled his thighs as he swiped the warm cloth over Cas' skin, cleaning the mess that they'd made together.  He let his eyes roam avidly, gaze near adoring.

"You're beautiful."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."  Cas purred, far too content to even bother blushing.

Arching very faintly as Dean cleaned the mess off him, Cas rolled his head, neck tilting partially to show off the few marks Dean had left, staining tanned skin.  A line of tiny black runes that were printed down his sternum shifted as he stretched and shuddered, warm water evaporating to leave his skin cool.

"Let me clean you?"  Cas asked, snagging the end of the cloth.

"Clean away," he grinned, eyes attracted to the foreign words on his skin, fingers trailing over them curiously.  "What does this mean?"

Castiel shifted from under him, pushing him off in order to clean between his thighs, and over his stomach.  "It's my family name.  We all have one."

Legs splayed for him, laying on his back, Dean he looked up at him with a tilted head.  "Is each one unique?"

"No.  They each say the same thing, but we all elected for different places.  Michael has his on his collarbone, and Luc's is between his shoulder blades.  Balthazar's is on his hip."  He said, washing away the sweat, and come from Dean's body with careful strokes.

"Gabriel's?"  He asked, shivering under the caring touches he took to clean him off.

"Down his spine."  Cas said, balling up the cloth as he finished, leaning down to press a warm kiss to the tip of Dean's nose.

Laughing faintly, his nose wrinkled in an endearing manner.  "So are those the only tattoos you have?  The proverbial family crest and your wings?"

Castiel nodded, moving to nestle in close to him, nose buried in his neck.  "For now, yeah."

Humming, Dean languidly draped his arms over him-- one at his shoulders and the other his waist-- wiggling so that he could managed their way beneath the covers.  Tugging sheets up over them, Dean buried close and let out a contented sound.  Their legs tangled, and they grappled with one another, bodies pressed so closely he almost couldn't tell where he ended and Cas began.

"What else are you thinking of getting?"

He dropped the wash cloth on the floor, far more interested in the warmth of Dean's body.  Lifting his head, Cas blinked up at him, considering his question for a moment.  "I'm not sure yet.  Maybe I'll stop with these."

"I dunno," Dean hid his face against the crook of his neck.  "I like them.  Your piercings too."

"You just like making me squirm."  Cas chuckled, stroking through his hair gently.

"Yes," he laughed, leaning into the touch.  "Yes, I do.  But the feeling is mutual."

"That's true."  Cas admitted, pressing into him, feeling warmed metal press up against his skin. 

Dean was content to just lay there with him, fingers trailing idly over his skin.  Along his neck, over his shoulder, across his collarbone.  Memorizing the feel of him.

"Did you have a good Thanksgiving?"  Dean asked, almost tentative.  "I know you don't usually celebrate, but was it good?" 

"Best I've ever had."  He replied honestly, recalling the generally warm atmosphere of the day.

Pulling back, Dean beamed at him, eyes shining with his joy, crinkling at the corners.  "I'm glad."

Cas couldn't help the warm little smile on his face when Dean looked at him like that, brushing the tip of a careful finger over the lines at his eyes.  "Thank you for inviting me."

Turning his head, he pressed his face into his hand, kissing his palm affectionately.  "You're welcome here anytime."

"I'm going to remind you of that next time I break in."  Cas chuckled, shifting his legs to press them closer, limbs tangled in a manner that was far more comfortable than it looked.

"You know, I'd give you a key, but I think you'd resort to breaking in anyways."

"Practice makes perfect."  Cas smiled.  "Though you could have chosen a downstairs bedroom.  Climbing walls is hard, even if you do have that plant lattice."

Dean gave him a jokingly scolding look.  "You better not hurt my roses."

"They're more likely to hurt me."  Cas retorted.

"Pretty things often have thorns," he replied, nipping pointedly at his jaw.

"That explains you."

"Does it?  I hadn't noticed."

Cas smiled at him, nudging his nose playfully.  "At least it means you're my pretty thing."

" _Your_ pretty thing?"  He asked, sounding affronted, but there was a smile on his face.  "We're back on that, are we?"

"My pretty thing."  Cas agreed, tracing over the line of his jaw, brushing the tips of his fingers over his lips.

Eyes fluttering, Dean's lips parted under Cas' touch, breath catching.  "Your pretty thing."

Castiel gave him a warm smile, tucking his face into the crook of Dean's neck and letting out a long sigh.  There was something immensely satisfying about holding Dean like this, unrestricted and warm, and safer than he'd felt in years.

Nuzzling into his hair, Dean let his eyes slip shut, wrapped up and secure with him.  He let out a long, content breath, and wiggled a bit closer as he eased against him.  It wasn't long before sleep was tempting him, dragging him down under slowly, coaxingly.  Breath evening out, he kissed the top of his head, fingers trailing up and down his spine.

"Night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."  He said, stroking idly down his side. 

When he was sure Dean was asleep, Cas raised his head, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

"I love you."  He whispered, barely audible, as though testing the feeling of the words in his mouth and liking the taste of them there.

 

 


	14. In the Morning

The first thing Castiel noticed when he woke was the soft warmth that pervaded his body, all languid and lazy as he moved.  The second was an upsetting lack of Dean next to him.  Rolling over with a soft huff, he noticed that the bed was still warm from Dean's body, stretching out his spine with a cat like curve as he sat up, hearing the soft flow of water and smiling.  Slipping from between the sheets, he yawned softly, running a hand through his hair as he walked into the bathroom to find Dean.

There was the sound of singing, some upbeat little tune that flowed from over the top of the shower door with the steam.  "--she acts like the summer and walks like rain, reminds me that there's time to change, hey ey ey."  There was a bit up mumbling, like Dean had forgotten the lyrics, and then he was belting it out again, slightly off key but endlessly endearing.  " _Tell me_!  Did you fall for a shooting star?  One without a permanent scar?  And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?"

At first, Castiel tilted his head, listening to him carefully.  Not exactly the best singer, but it was cute.  Looking around the bathroom, he jumped up onto the sink, sitting idly as Dean sang.  "Do you normally sing for your guests, or am I special?"

There was the sound of slipping, and then a sharp exhale as Dean seemed to catch himself.  "Jesus, Cas."  He poked his head out around around the edge of the glass door, too fogged up to reveal any skin, suds dripping down his temple.  "Wear a bell."

Castiel laughed as a wet head poked around the door, grinning playfully at him.  "But I'm not a cat."

"You sure about that?"  He asked, a chuckle catching on his words.  "You seem pretty feline to me."

"Last I checked, I was human, and you can attest to that."  Cas said, teasing, as he smiled at him, trying-- quite obviously-- to see past the shower screen.

Noting his gaze, Dean grinned, taking a step back but leaving the door open.  "You can join me, if you like."

A slow smirk curled over Cas' lips, letting out a little hum of content as  he stripped out of his --slightly stained-- underwear and slipped into the shower with him.  He took a brief moment to admire the flow of water over Dean's body, shivering despite the heat of the steam.  "Good morning."

Smiling coyly, Dean let his eyes drift down over him, really taking him in for the first time in full light, unabashed in his admiration.  "Morning."

Cas had no aversion to his own body, but there was something satisfying about having Dean look at him, spine arching ever so slightly as he ducked under the water.  "Sleep well?"  He asked, near casual despite the flex of his body under the water.

"Very," he nodded, shuffling close, stepping under the spray of water with Cas until they were almost touching.  "You?"

Cas hummed his agreement, closing his eyes as water washed over his face, moving back to shake his hair out.  "Just fine."

Laughing, Dean reached out, fingers tangling into the wet mess of Cas' hair as he pulled him back close until they were pressed-- all slick, bare skin and heat.  "Good to hear.  How are you now?"

He let out a slow groan, moving as Dean asked with no resistance whatsoever.  Smiling sleepily over at him, Cas gave a soft shrug.  "Cleaner."  He said, curling an arm around his waist.

"I can fix that," he hummed, tilting his head and slanting their mouths together for a long, lingering moment.  "Unless you'd rather not?"

"No, I think I'd rather."  Cas mumbled, voice dropping a little as heat began to pool in his gut, far too sensitive to his teasing.

Grinning, Dean pressed him back against a shockingly cold tile wall, slipping a knee between Castiel's legs, and he leaned in to kiss him.  Parting his lips easily, finding them pliant and wanting, Dean slid his tongue alongside Cas' and sucked gently, tauntingly.  They were hip to hip, chest to chest, hands groping blindly over slick skin.  Dean found himself playing with one of Cas' nipple piercings, enjoying the way it made his boyfriend arch against him as their mouths continued to battle and vie for dominance.

It was then that Cas decided his piercings were simultaneously the best and worst thing he'd ever done, biting back a whine as Dean pulled at the one he’d been toying with idly.  After a long moment, Cas pulled back to take a breath, gripping at one of Dean's shoulders so hard he was sure he'd leave a mark, arching and squirming under his hands.

"I wonder," Dean muttered, voice low and rich, like chocolate covered sex as he continued to make him writhe with a certain kind of satisfaction.  "If I could make you come just like this?  Rutting against my thigh, my hands on your skin.  What do you think?"

If it was anyone else, Cas would have given them a haughty look and insisted he was better than that, but this was Dean, and he currently had two very warm, very well placed hands and a thigh to grind against.  For now, he was content with that. 

He let his head fall back against the tiles, hips shifting against his leg very subtly as he nodded.  "I bet you could." 

Eyes flashing, Dean met his gaze, lifting his leg a bit more and pressed more firmly, tugging sharply at a piercing again.  "I bet I could too."

Cas jerked a little, a flare of pain spiking through him, giving Dean a warning glance.  "Careful."  He chided.

"Sorry," he murmured, ducking his head down, leaning in to place an apologetic kiss over the sensitive nub.

Any annoyance in him at the mistake faded as lips pressed over his nipple.  Letting out a soft whine, Cas clutched at Dean's shoulder, squirming faintly under him as he rutted against his thigh.

Lapping at the piercing, Dean’s fingers trailed down Cas' sides, tracing the ladder of his ribs as heat flooded through him.  The sound Castiel let out had warmth rushing through his veins, and he bit his way up his chest and to his neck, allowing Cas to rut as he pleased.  Part of Castiel registered that it was a bit unfair to leave Dean unattended, but the majority of his brain function was too occupied with the wet mouth moving over his skin and the warm thigh he was rutting unabashedly against.  Heat curled low in his gut, a hand moving restlessly over Dean's back, nails dragging down his spine.

Arching, Dean groaned against his skin, thumbing over Cas' nipples as he sucked a spot into the skin just above his collar, wanting nothing more than to have Castiel fall apart against him.  Wanting to hear him finish.  Wanting to repeat what had happened the night before over and over until it was seared in his mind.

Moaning lowly, Cas scrambled at his back, clutching for purchase as he squeezed his eyes shut.  He didn’t have the time to be embarrassed about how wanton he sounded, how he no doubt looked, as he felt his orgasm wash through him swiftly, coming against Dean's thigh with a soft growl, chest heaving as he panted.  It was a testament to how easily Dean could wind him up, how fast he’d wrapped him around his finger, that he came so quickly.

Stilling, Dean placed soothing kisses up his neck, fingers fanning out over his sides as he made sure Cas could stand, kissing his cheek with nothing but fondness.  "You okay?"

Tilting his head ever so slightly, Cas let out a soft hum, a lazy looking smile on his lips.  "Just fine."  He purred, cracking his eyes open to look at him.

"Good," Dean smiled, hand cupping the side of his face, and he leaned in to kiss him gently.

With the languid kind of movements that were generally associated with punch-drunkenness, Castiel returned his kiss, pulling back to smile warmly at him, moving a hand between Dean's legs and raising an eyebrow.  "What about you?"

Breath catching, he shrugged.  "I-- I can do it myself if you don't want to."

Considering him for a moment, a cheeky little smirk curled Castiel's lips.  "Let me go down on you?" 

Blushing a deep color, all of that assuredness gone, he swallowed past the dryness in his mouth and nodded.  "Uh, yeah.  Yeah, okay."

Turning off the shower for the sake of the rest of the house’s water supply, Cas took one of his hands, squeezing gently, and tugging him out of the shower.  A spark of nerves bristled through him, keeping their eyes locked as he walked Dean back into his room.  "Take a seat."

Still damp, Dean took a slow seat on the edge of his bed, suddenly very nervous.  "Um, we don’t-- you don't have to do this, you know."

He regarded Dean evenly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he moved to kneel between his legs.  "But I'd like to, if you'll let me."

Dean's fingers curled briefly into his sheets, and he shuddered, nodding.  "Yes.  If you'd like.  Yes."

Leaning forward, Cas pressed a soft kiss to his lips, unwinding one of Dean's hands from the sheets to lace their fingers together. Getting himself as comfortable as possible, Cas offered a little smirk up at him, pressing a line of soft kisses down his chest, lowering his head further to brush over the head of his cock.

Dean clutched at his hand, breath catching, and he watched him as a warm mouth moved down over him, biting back a pleasantly shocked sound as lips touched him.  He'd never done this, never gotten this far with anyone, and even the smallest touch sent a rush through him, a whimper slipping over his lips.

To be frank, it wasn't the most pleasant of things, but the whimper that Dean let out more than compensated.  Carefully, Cas licked at the head of his cock.  Shuddering, Dean's gaze fluttered shut, and he gripped more firmly at his hand and curled more tightly into the sheets.  The muscles of his stomach and his thighs trembled; he quivered and did his best not to shift too much, let Castiel set the pace, let him take his time and explore.  Accepting each touch like a gift.

Giving a curious hum, he looked up at him briefly, gauging Dean’s reaction as he sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, tongue undulating around it.  Dean’s lower back curved, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the cry that fell over his lips.  Shuddering, Dean's eyes glazed over slightly, and he let pleasure wash through him. 

Humming softly, Cas wrapped a hand over the rest of Dean's length, sucking at him with increasing enthusiasm.  Whining behind his fingers, Dean's head fell back, and his cock throbbed as wet and heat and _yes, good, ecstasy_ rushed through him.  Surround him.  Leaving him breathless and trying not to squirm.

Breath catching, Dean finally looked back down at him, eyes dark as Castiel's tongue pressed along the sensitive bundle of nerves just below the head of his cock, warm vibrations sending fantastic little shudders up his spine when Cas groaned, watching his length disappear past sinfully stretched lips, the vision obscene and breathtaking.  Moaning, he ran his fingers through Castiel's hair, grateful and affectionate, feeling that coil in him tighten until he was on the precipice of ecstasy.

The fingers in his hair drew a rumbling moan out of Castiel, lapping at the head of his cock, squeezing.

"Cas," he gasped, tugging with warning.  "Cas, I-- I'm so--"

With a certain sense of urgency, Castiel pulled back, stroking over his length.  Dean flinched, hips jerking as he came into his fist, hand going tight in Cas’ hair as the other locked down on Cas' free hand, features drawn tight with bliss as he moaned.  The hand in his hair tilted Cas' head back, watching as Dean came with an oddly intense gaze, wanting to remember the look on his face.

Panting, Dean slowly let his hands uncurl, rubbing soothingly at Castiel's scalp in case he had pulled too hard.  Swallowing thickly, he stared down at him with wide eyes, little tremors running through his body as aftershocks of pleasure.  When he'd finally caught his bearings, blushing from the sight of Castiel's hand around his softening length and covered in the evidence of his rapture, he let out a soft sound. 

"Thank you," he breathed, shivering.  "Thank you, Cas."

Cas let out a soft chuckle, getting to his feet and letting go of Dean's hand in order to go wash the spunk from his hand.  "You're welcome."  He said, smiling warmly over his shoulder as he shook water from his hands and padded back in to curl up next to Dean.

Flopping back onto the bed, Dean stared up at the ceiling, slightly dazed.  Legs splayed open, chest rising and falling with each breath, he shuddered and relaxed, limbs pleasantly heavy in his post-pleasured state.  After a moment, he turned his head and looked over at Cas, giving him a fond smile.  Holding his hand out for him, Dean laid it palm up expectantly on the sheets, feeling awash with joy and affection, hair sticking up at odd angles and skin flush. 

"You're awesome, you know that?"

Cas took his hand, squeezing it gently as they lay there, comfortable as he shifted to press up against Dean's side, resting his chin on his chest.  "Yeah, I know.  You keep telling me."

"Probably because it's true," he muttered, fingers threading through Castiel's, eyes locked on where their hands were woven together.  "You're amazing, Castiel."

He leant up to press a soft kiss to Dean's cheek, resting against him.  "So are you."

Turning his head, he let his lips brush over Cas' as he spoke.  "I hate to say it, but we should probably get dressed."

"Do we have to?"  Cas complained, curling an arm around him as he nestled in closer, not quite willing to get up yet.

Leg laying over Cas', he shook his head, fingers stroking along the arm Cas had draped over him.  "No, not yet.  But soon."

Burying his face into the crook of Dean's neck, Castiel let out a pleased hum, enjoying the slide of bared skin together.

Turning his face so that his lips could rest at Castiel’s temple, Dean let his eyes flutter shut.  He found himself too calm.  Too relaxed.  Too content there in his arms.  It was perfect, and Dean couldn't help but feel like maybe it wouldn't last.  Nosing into his hair, he gripped Cas' hand a bit tighter, afraid that maybe this all was just temporary, but forced himself to keep his fears on the back burner.  They could be addressed later.  Later when he wasn't so busy wrapping himself up in Castiel. 

When he wasn't so busy falling.

Cas noticed the grip on his hand with a little concern, knowing Dean well enough to sense when he was over thinking things.  Tightening his hold around his waist, he nudged at his neck.  "You think too much," he chided, voice muffled.

Dean huffed out a laugh.  "That's a first."

"Hardly." Cas said flatly, raising his head to look up at him.

"It is for me," he said, matter of factly, meeting his gaze evenly, ever self-depreciating. 

Cas let out a soft huff of disapproval.  "Shush."

"What?"  He chuckled, finding nothing wrong with the way he saw himself, the know-nothing jock, the failure.  "It's true."

A little furrow formed between Cas' brows, giving him a faint disapproving look.  "One day you'll see."

"And you'll be the one to show me?"  He asked, mostly in jest, not believing for a second that he was half as good as Castiel believed him to be, his hand coming up from where he'd been tracing idle patterns over Cas' arm in order to cup his cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye.

"Somebody's gotta put some sense into that head of yours."  He said, leaning into his hand.

"And you drew the short straw," Dean concluded, wincing sympathetically.  "Sorry."

"I volunteered."  Cas countered.

"And why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?"  He asked, voice softening, thumb dragging over the line of his cheek.

Cas stalled for a moment, mouth going dry as he struggled to come up with an answer that wasn't 'I love you.'  He let out a soft sigh, turning his head to press a kiss to the palm of his hand.  "Because I wanted to."

"Stupid as it is," Dean said, eyes alight and warm, guiding Castiel's face up to meet his so that he could press a kiss to his lips.  "I'm glad."

He hummed softly against his lips, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "So am I."

"Good," he smiled, kissing him again.  "Because now you'll never be rid of me."

"Who said I wanted to be rid of you?"

Beaming at him, Dean kissed him again, lingering longer this time.  There were words that stuck to his tongue, clung to his lips, and wouldn't leave him, but he felt his heart give a ridiculous stammer and he pressed ever closer. 

He could feel the shift in Dean's heart beat, nudging affectionately against his cheek.  "We should stay here forever."

"My bedroom?"  Dean chortled, nose dragging over his cheek in reply.  "You want to stay in my bedroom forever?"

"I'd have to bring some clothing, but yeah.  I think I could stay here."

"You could always just borrow some of mine," he muttered, playing along with this silly little fantasy, hand tangling with the one resting on his chest.  "Unless, in this alternate universe we're talking about, we don't ever wear clothes."

Chuckling softly, a rich sound that rolled easily off his tongue.  "I like that alternative."

Flushing a pretty color, he let himself drift, thumb tapping thoughtfully.  "We'd either had to have evolved to not need food, or... Or this is a universe where we have the entire house to ourselves, and the fridge just magically keeps on filling."

Pulling him in closer, Cas pressed into his neck, smiling against his skin, "I like food too much to give it up."

"So a magical refilling fridge."  Dean stated, grinning lopsidedly, and he untangled a hand in order to stroke leisurely up and down Cas' spine.  "Whole house.  Just for us.  Naked all the time.  Sounds pretty good to me."

Castiel hummed his agreement, spine arching into his touches.  It simply wasn't fair, how comfortable he was, how safe he felt, all wrapped up in Dean's arms, legs tangled together.

Dean kissed the top of his head, letting out a soft sound.  He held him closer, let his eyes fall shut, and buried his nose into the dark of his hair.  Those words were back again, on his tongue, burning there.  He swallowed them down, a little panicked, and felt his heart skip a beat.

"We really should get dressed."

Reluctantly, Castiel nodded extracting his limbs from Dean's grasp and standing, arching his back to stretch out, oddly flexible.  Looking at the pile of his clothes, strewn over the floor, he let out a soft huff of annoyance, picking up his shirt gingerly.  "You mentioned clothes borrowing."

Laughing, Dean slid to his feet, moving over to take his shirt from him and then going to pluck up the rest of the dirty clothes before he headed towards the restroom.  "Yeah, go ahead and take your pick.  I'm gonna throw these in the hamper so I can wash them later."

Offering a warm smile in thanks, Cas moved over to his dresser, opening drawers in search of something that might actually fit him, being a little thicker around the waist than Dean.  He was halfway through his tee shirt collection when he noticed a flash of something distinctly satiny.  Narrowing his eyes, he peered at it for a second.  _No way_.

"Uhm, Dean."  He called, picking up what were unmistakably female undergarments of the pretty variety, a slow smirk on his face.  "You wanna explain, or can I just imagine?"

"Explain what--?"  Dean came to a halt right outside of his bathroom door, freezing with his eyes on the the scrap of bright aquamarine satin. 

Face going a deep red, he opened his mouth to try and explain, but found nothing convincing to say.  He could try and pass them off as an ex-girlfriend's, but that would explain why they were folded so neatly and hidden in his dresser.  

Eyes wide with panic, he glanced up at Cas, completely at a loss.  "I um... I... Those-- Those are just... underwear."

"Yeah, no shit.  I can see what they are."  Cas said flatly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.  If they were Dean's, he'd be okay, a little surprised, but okay.  However, if they were somebody else's, heads would roll.  " _Who's_ underwear?"

He gulped audibly, feeling suddenly _very_ naked and _very_ vulnerable.  "...mine."

It took him a moment to process, ticking over the idea, the odd few mental images greasing the way to soften the jealous little scowl on his face.  "Really?"  Cas asked, looking from the scrap of fabric to Dean and then back again.

"Yes," his jaw clenched briefly, hands flexing at his sides.  "They're mine."

Raising an eyebrow, he let out a soft hum, oddly approving as his mind created a neat little image of _exactly_ what that would look like.  He nodded slowly, partially in approval though it wasn't quite his thing. 

"And you use them for...?"  Cas asked, mostly teasing.

Rolling his eyes, Dean stalked forward, snatching the panties away from him, still flustered and highly embarrassed.  "To _wear_ , dumb ass."

Cas let out a put upon sigh, faking petulance as he chased after the article in question.  "I _know_ that, but _when_ do you wear them?"

Holding them out of his reach, keeping them at his back.  "When I want to.  And... sometimes when I, um... When I... you know."

A cheeky smirk quirked his lips, grinning over at him.  "Kinky little thing, aren't you?"

His flush only increased, spreading from his cheeks and to his ears and down his neck.  "No.  Just..."  His voice lowered, and he glanced down nervously.  "I like certain things."

Castiel rolled his eyes, "I'm pretty sure that's what a kink is."  He said flatly, trying to reach behind him and grab the offending panties.  "So, you have a boyfriend, but you like women’s underwear?”

Cas' fingers caught on the material, and to avoid ripping it, Dean let it go with a sigh.  "Yes, okay.  I like wearing women's underwear.  Do you have a problem with that?"

He peered curiously at vivid material, head tilting ever so slightly.  "No, it's just...  Unexpected."

"Good unexpected?"  Dean asked, weary and worried.  "Or bad unexpected?"

"Good unexpected."  He replied, "I just didn't think you'd be the type."

"To have kinks?"  He asked, meeting his gaze, and reaching out to take his underwear back, pausing when Castiel kept his grip on them.

Carefully, he rubbed over soft fabric, letting them go after a moment.  "To have _that_ kind of kink."

"What kind of kinks did you think I had?"  He asked curiously, and he made to fold them up, to put them away.

Cas considered is question for a long moment.  "I'm not sure."  He said slowly, as though still trying to work it out.  "Just not that."

Brushing by, he placed them back in their spot hidden beneath his shirts with the other pairs of lace and vivid colors, snapping the drawer shut as he opened the top one and pulled out a pair of boxer-briefs for himself. 

Stepping into them, he pulled them up and over his hips, turning to face Cas with a pensive expression.  "Are they going to bother you?"

"No."  Cas replied, still in the process of wrapping his head around it all, moving to stand next to him as he searched around for a pair of pants.

"You sure?"  He asked, nudging hip against hip.  "Because you seem like it's going to bother you."

"It doesn't bother me."  He replied, truthful. "But maybe one day you can show me?"   

"I don't--"  Dean blushed, looking away, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over his head.  "Sure.  If you were ever interested in that.  Sure."

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.  "Thanks."  He said, mostly playful as he snagged a slightly baggy pair of track pants and pulled them on.

"You're welcome," he said dryly, opening the bottom drawer to pull out a pair of well-worn jeans, and tugged them up over his hips as he stuck his tongue out petulantly. 

Chuckling, Cas popped the shirt drawer back open and found a shirt, tugging it over his head.

"Hey," Dean muttered once they were both dressed, a hand coming to rest at his hips tentatively, pulling him just a bit closer.  "Thank you for last night.  For everything."

Cas moved for him with no complaints, leaning against him.  "You're welcome."  He said, pressing an affectionate kiss to his cheek.

Smiling, he pulled back, moving to head towards his door and down to the kitchen, beckoning Castiel after him.  "What do you want for breakfast?  Chocolate chip pancakes?"

Cas let out a little hum of approval.  "Do you normally bribe your dates with food, or am I special?"  He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Oh, I bribe everyone with food."  He smiled over at him, stopping at the base of the stairs.  "Don't feel special."

Castiel smiled at him, and was about to reply when a familiarly obnoxious voice called out from the lounge room.

"Morning boys, good night?" Gabriel asked, sticking a sleep scruffy head up from his place on the couch and giving them a pointed look, standing up and rolling his shoulders in an exact match to Cas' morning stretch.

Dean glanced over, eyes skirting over him briefly in a subdued admiration, and he didn't even blush as he grinned charmingly-- that same one he'd given Gabe at the bar when they'd first met-- as he walked into the kitchen with a wink.  "Better than yours."

The retort Cas had lined up died on his lips when Dean winked, narrowing his eyes at his brother, daring him to so much as even _think_ the wrong way.  Following Dean into the kitchen, considerably less amused than he had been not moments before, he lingered close to him, unnecessarily possessive.  He hovered, watching as Dean gathered what he needed, very much like a guard dog protecting its territory.

"Cas?"  He asked warily, as he opened up a drawer, almost running into him for the second time, rummaging around for a bag of chocolate chips.  "What's up?"

He curled an arm around him, nipping pointedly under his ear, "Mine."

Dean shivered, pressing into him, feeling a rush of heat at the claim.  "What brought this on?"

"Please don't talk to my brother that way."  He mumbled, nestling in close to him, equal parts jealous as he was afraid of losing him.

Expression softening, he turned in his hold to face him, cupping his jaw in both hands as he forced Castiel to meet his gaze.  "Hey.  You don't have to worry, Cas.  I'm not going anywhere.  You've got me.  I'm yours."

He swallowed thickly, looking over at him with the kind of vulnerability he didn't let anyone else see.  "Promise?"

Nodding, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.  "I promise, Cas.  I'm yours.  I'm yours and you're mine."

It was some relief, enough to push his fears away, shuffling in close for a moment, offering a smile as he pulled away.  "I'm yours and you're mine."

Catching his hands, Dean gave him a small, apologetic smile.  "I didn't mean to freak you out or anything, Cas."

"I didn't mean to freak out."  He admitted, squeezing at his hands gently.

"I know," he nodded, pulling Cas in and kissing his cheek.  "It's okay.  I don't mind.  Kind of sweet honestly."

"So, breakfast?"  Gabriel asked, padding into the kitchen. 

Dean pulled away from Cas, but kept a lingering hand at his wrist, offering a smile to the older man.  "How do you feel about chocolate and pancakes?"

A bright smile lit up Gabriel's face, ignoring the pointed look Cas was giving him.  "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

There was banter on the tip of his tongue, but Dean cast a fleeting glance Castiel's way and swallowed it down, turning back to gathering what he needed to make breakfast.  "Don't worry.  Everyone likes my cooking."

Gabriel saw Dean hesitate, saw the little glance he cast to Castiel and let out a long sigh. "Don't be such a wet blanket, Cassie.  I'm just messing with him."

Castiel gave his brother a flat look, hardly amused by his accusation, even if part of him knew it was right.  "Then don't mess with him."

"You do."

A vivid flush lit up Cas' cheeks at the implications, falling back to the most effective, albeit childish response he could think of.  "Shut up, Gabriel."

Dean grinned to himself, measuring out the right amount of pancake mix and then pouring in a cup of chocolate chips.  "Is messing with me a family trait?"  He asked playfully, back to the both of them as he added in the milk and vegetable oil he needed, whisking it all together with practiced motions.  "Should I look out for the other Novaks?"

In near perfect unison, Castiel and Gabriel turned to him, equally foreboding expressions on their faces as they nodded.

"Probably, yeah."  Gabriel said, the usual mirth in his tone gone.

Dean looked their way, still thinking it was all in jest, but his smile faltered at the grave looks on their faces.  "Damn, guys.  I don't know them-- I mean, I've heard rumors about them, but they can't be that bad."

"I'll put it this way, Luc tried to smother his baby brother after our mother died because apparently it was his fault."  Gabriel told him, tone sombre.  "We are not what you think."

Dean’s brow ticked up in abhorrence.  “You’re shitting me.”

They both shook their heads in almost eerie unison.  "Why would I lie about that?"  Gabriel asked.

"That's-- That's disgusting."  Dean said, shaking his head, feeling oddly ill and he leaned back against the counter for support.  "That's _disturbing_.  Is _everyone_ like that?"

The brothers exchanged a glance, as though communicating together before Castiel gave a slight shrug.  "It depends on what mood they're in.  Sometimes they're quite companionable."

"Remind me _never_ to meet them."  He said in a disquieted huff, a trouble wrinkle appearing between his brows.  "No offense."

"None taken."  Castiel replied, speaking for his brother.

Frowning to himself, Dean turned back to the bowl of batter, stirring it around a bit aimlessly, distracted with disordered thoughts.  "And I thought my dad was a dick."  He muttered, mostly to himself.          

Gabriel had fallen into a somewhat pensive silence, an almost bitter look on his face, not unnoticed by his brother, and Castiel made a mental note to talk to him later.  Of the both of them, it had always been Gabriel that struggled the most with leaving, having to let go of a family he adored unwaveringly despite all of their faults, and sometimes it took some serious convincing to talk him out of going back home.  It wasn't as though his family were _all_ bad people-- a little misguided perhaps, and sometimes controlling to the point of suffocation, but not all bad.  Once upon a time, you might even say they were affectionate with each other.

Turning his attentions back to Dean, Castiel tilted his head as he watched him work, a less than comfortable silence falling over them, the brothers’ occasionally sharing a glance, as though trading secrets in their gazes.

Dean didn't look his way until the first pancake was cooking on the stove, and he felt pinned under the intensity of their stares-- solemn and burdened, almost blind, lost in something a lot like turmoil-- electric blue and warm whiskey, and it made Dean's heart ache.  They both glanced at one another, lingering for a moment before gazing back at Dean, silent in their waiting, and he regretted ever bringing up their family.  It seemed to hang heavy in the air between them, almost stifling, and it had been a long time since Dean felt the need to comfort anyone so much.

Clearing his throat, Dean leaned back, crossing his arms in order to keep himself from reaching out for the both of them.  “Subject change anyone?”

Cas shook his head as though to clear it, and offered Dean a shaky smile, nodding almost frantically, knowing both he and Gabriel needed a change before they got sucked into their own thoughts.  He'd been good with conversation, and frankly, any thoughts line ran dry the second he tried to come up with something to change the subject, sending Dean a helpless little look.

“So Gabe,” Dean glanced his way, dutifully stepping up to the plate.  “How do you like the club business?”

Breaking out of his reverie, Gabriel gave a slight shrug.  "It's fair work.  Some of the patrons are dicks, but generally it's good."

"Long nights, I'd imagine.  You guys must order take-out all the time," Dean muttered, and it sort of struck him as he was flipping the pancake in the skillet with a skilled swooped and jerk of the pan; it landed perfectly.  "How long has it been since you two had a home-cooked dinner?  Not counting last night?"

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, and then abruptly closed it as he thought back.  It had been a while. 

Cas shrugged.  "Neither of us can cook," he said, drawing a sound of protest from his brother.  "No, Gabe, cookies at four AM whilst drunk does not count as cooking."  He added, silencing his brother’s protests.  "We never had to learn how to, and home cooked is a broad term.  We had minders for that when we grew up."

"Jesus," Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head in disappointment.  "What's your regular night off, Gabe?  You must have one."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going with a broad smile.  "Tuesdays."

"Tuesdays."  Dean muttered, mostly to himself as he shuffled a cake off onto a plate and then poured another into the skillet before turning to face the both of them.  "Then from now on, every Tuesday, I'll cook for you.  I have practice until three thirty and then work until six.  You guys can come over and eat with me and Sam."

Gabriel grinned at him far too pleased with the offer of food.  It took him a moment, grin falling ever so slightly as he thought through the offer, finding something missing in Dean's logic.  "Won't your parents get a little pissed?"

"No," his voice softened very faintly.  "No, they won't.  Fact is, you'll probably never see them."

Sensing it was an awkward topic, Gabriel backed off, nodding slowly, knowing all too well how difficult it was to speak of family.  "Well, I suppose that's convenient."

"Not always," Dean smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.  "But certainly a lot less broken glass to clean up."

Cas nudged carefully at his hip, sliding a hand over the opposite one in concern, wanting to make him feel better. 

Pointedly ignoring the affection with just a little envy, Gabriel gave a soft hum.  "Sometimes parents have more important things than their kids to deal with."  He said, parroting his eldest brother.

"True," Dean nodded, flipping another pancake, his back to Gabriel, and he denied himself the right to lean into Castiel for comfort.  "Especially if those important things involve being dead or being drunk."

Cas remained where he was despite the way Dean shut him out, carefully running a consoling hand over his rib cage.

"Yeah, especially then."  Gabriel agreed, a bitter little laugh leaving him.

Dean barked out a laugh too, shaking his head, more sadly bemused than anything else.  He nudged into Cas, signaling that he was alright, that it was okay, he plopped another pancake onto the plate and poured another, despite the space that his boyfriend was eating up while trying assuage him.  "So Tuesdays then."

Dropping a kiss on his cheek, Castiel got out of his way, shuffling back to rest against the fridge, a slightly concerned furrow between his eyebrows. 

Pausing for a moment, Gabriel nodded.  "Yeah, Tuesdays."

"Cool," he smiled, sort of excited about the prospect, certainly more enthusiastic about the idea of spending time with Cas and his older brother than he was about the conversation they'd been having.  "I'm sure Sam will like having you guys around more.  He seems to like you, Gabriel."

Gabriel let out a soft hum.  "Yeah, I guess."  He said, considering their conversation from the day previous.  "He's not so bad for a pint sized moose."

"Moose?"  Dean asked, chuckling.  "He's too little to be a moose.  Where the hell did you get that anyway?"

"Wait a couple of years.  It'll happen."  Gabriel said, almost wise if it wasn't for the smug looking grin on his face.

"I doubt it," he snorted.  He couldn't imagine his baby brother getting much taller than Dean.  If taller at all.  He had four pancakes finished already, and he looked over his shoulder at Cas.  "You guys wanna start now?  Syrup is in the fridge.  Butter too."

"I said that about Cassie too, and he's a fucking giant."  Gabriel said, earning an eye roll from his brother.

"You're just a short-ass."  Cas retorted, riffling through the fridge and pulling out various condiments.

"You are pretty short, Gabe."  Dean added teasingly over his shoulder.

The man in question gave them both a scowl.  "Oh ha-ha.  Make fun of the short guy.  Not my fault you guys are freakishly tall."

"Do you feel freakishly tall, Cas?"  Dean jibed, playful as ever as he set the, now five, pancakes he'd made on the table.  "I don't feel freakishly tall."

"No, I'm quite sure this is normal height."  Castiel said, playing along at his brother’s expense, earning a petulant looking pout.

"Shut up."

"Easy, Gabe."  Dean pat him on the shoulder companionably, moving back over to the stove to cook up more pancakes.  "Have a seat, dig in, drown your tiny sorrows in chocolate and syrup."

Gabriel landed a flick behind Dean's ear, sitting down at the table, grumbling about freakishly tall morons.  Cas just rolled his eyes, joining his brother at the table, shoving a bottle of chocolate sauce in his face, knowing it would appease his terrible sweet tooth.

Rubbing at his ear, Dean laughed, pouring more batter into the skillet.  He whistled softly to himself, some tune only he recognized, and he busied himself with the breakfast until he felt there were enough pancakes for four hungry young men.  Coming back over to the table, he set a larger stack down, and took his spot next to Cas, knowing Sam would come down when he finally smelled the proverbial bacon.  But even without him, sitting there with Castiel and Gabriel, moving around each other with surprising ease, it felt a little bit like family.

And to be honest, it was something Dean could definitely get used to.  

**Author's Note:**

> Story Title: "How Long" by How to Destroy Angels  
> Prologue Title: "Fire" by Delta Rae  
> Chapter One Title: "Traveling Riverside Blues" by Led Zeppelin  
> Chapter Two Title: "My Own Worst Enemy" by Lit  
> Chapter Three Title: "Blue Sky" by The Allman Brothers Band  
> Chapter Three Songs: "Traveling Riverside Blues" by Led Zeppelin, "Up and Around the Bend" by CCR  
> Chapter Four Title: "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab For Cutie  
> Chapter Five Title: "Bad Things" by Jace Everett  
> Chapter Six Title: "Guilty Filthy Soul" by AWOLNATION  
> Chapter Seven Title: "Got It Bad" by ZZ Ward  
> Chapter Eight Title: "Mirrors" by Justin Timberlake  
> Chapter Nine Titles: "Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones


End file.
